


The Rise of the Lone Wolf

by MissjillyV1991



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjillyV1991/pseuds/MissjillyV1991
Summary: Lyra Stark is the disinherited child of Brandon Stark with a Martell. First betrothed to Robb to regain her seat, Lyra finds her loyalties divided due to war as Doran pacts with Tywin to marry her to Jaime. War changes many; Dorne joins, Jaime's released from his vows, and Lyra becomes the warrior Lone Wolf. Can Lyra and Jaime find love again? Is Dorne hiding other motives?Robb X Lyra, then Jaime X Lyra.RE-WRITE OF THE LONE WOLF OF HOUSE LANNISTER





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing related to Game of Thrones or George R. R. Martin's work, A Song of Fire and Ice. I just write the fan-fics.

**Face Claims:**

**Princess Meria Martell: Emmanuelle Chriqui (Character age-36)**

**Tia Tavner: Anna Popplewell (character Age: 20)**

**Lord Brandon Stark: Eoin Macken (Character age at death-22)**

* * *

**Prologue: The Wild Wolf and the Desert Rose**

Princess Meria Martell was an oddity, even for a Martell; she had a high born bastard from the Reach for a paramour, and she enjoyed spending her days among the common folk, she simply found them more interesting than the nobility. In fact, Princess Meria even had a common stoney dornish woman as one of her handmaidens, Tia, who was currently taking tea with her. Eliy Flowers left to go back to the Reach a couple of days ago, and with her only child gone North, Meria was beginning to feel lonely, so she decided to invite Tia to take her tea with her after the brown haired freckled girl brought it for her. Tia had been in Meria's service since she'd found the charming orphaned girl of seven years, and she'd been the Princess's friend and confidant ever since she became one of her official handmaidens at the age of thirteen. As Meria drank her tansy tea, brewed to prevent an illegitimate pregnancy by Eliy, the two women chatted about everything from Lyra's upcoming marriage to Robb to potential suitors for Tia. Her loyal handmaiden was now twenty years, older than Meria's only daughter and child, and Meria needed to think of potential marriage prospects for her in return for her many years of service, companionship, and loyalty. She was thinking of one of her oldest brother's newly anointed knights, whom she'd caught exchanging flirtatious glances with the handmaiden in question. Though Meria would have to speak with her brother, the Ruling Prince of Dorne, before the marriage could be arranged, she was certain that he'd agree; the knight, Ser Aldo, came from a merchant family as did the orphan Tia Tavner.

"Oh! My Princess! I almost forgot," Tia said excitedly as she pulled an unopened scroll from her pocket. "Lady Lyra's raven arrived with a letter for you this morning."

Thanking Tia, Meria examined the scroll, which had an orange, unbroken seal with the Stark dire wolf. Meria sighed and shook her head, her daughter Lyra was quite committed to her nickname, the Sun Wolf. She laughed as she remembered the day Lyra began calling herself "the Sun Wolf"; Doran's oldest daughter, Princess Arienne, was play fighting with seven year old Lyra, and lost against her younger cousin. When Lyra declared herself to be a warrior as Queen Nymeria, Arienne, who had always been a sore loser, indignantly told Lyra that she could never be like the founder of House Martell because she was a Stark, and thus a wolf not a spear wielding warrior. Lyra, who's father, Brandon Stark, had died only two years prior, asked the old wizened Maester Derren to tell her all about the House Stark warriors. Upon learning of their wolfish nicknames and how her own father was called the "Wild Wolf" due to his fiery passionate personality, Lyra decided to follow in her father's footsteps and came up with her own nickname. Meria and Brandon's daughter took her position as her lord father's sole heir quite seriously, especially after his death and the usurpment of her own seat in Winterfell. Believing herself to be the rightful heir to Winterfell since her father's death, Lyra began to call herself the "Sun Wolf" due to being a Stark residing in Sunspear under the protection of House Martell. She'd even gone as far as to take up swordplay at the age of seven in addition to archery, much to everyone's chagrin. Nobody would even teach her how to properly wield a sword, mostly at the behest of Meria herself, until Meria's other older brother, Prince Oberyn, came back from Essos and saw his niece relentlessly trying to force lowborn children around the palace to spar with her.

Prince Oberyn, who'd just found twelve-year-old Obara Sand and was teaching her to fight with a spear, sat down with his eight-year-old niece, and asked her why she wanted to learn how to fight to begin with. Lyra's response was that she was Brandon's heir, and thus she needed to learn just as her father before her; but mostly, she did not wish to die as her royal cousins and aunt had during Robert's Rebellion, fearful and defenseless because the knights who were supposed to protect them failed in their duty. Meria felt her heart break at her daughter's response, Lyra was too young to be so jaded as to believe that her own sworn men might not or could not protect her. Oberyn was touched by Lyra's response as well, but differently from Meria; his heart broke for his deceased niece, Princess Rhaenys, who was less than one year younger than Lyra, and he felt that she had a valid point as his emotions about the Sack of King's Landing was still raw. That very day, Oberyn began teaching Lyra about spears and swordplay along with his own bastard daughter.

Lyra ended up having quite a talent with swords, so much in fact that Oberyn, who was a spearman and not much of a swordsman, felt he'd taught his niece all he could about swords when she was only eleven years, which is why he and Meria tasked Sunspear's Master at Arms to teach Lyra from then on. Of course, Oberyn continued to teach Obara everyday about mastering a spear, and Lyra would occasionally join them, claiming that she wanted to learn every weapon so that she could be as strong as possible. She would even go as far as demanding that her older, much bigger and stronger cousin spar with her everyday starting at the age of thirteen once Lyra received her own commissioned sword, which she had dubbed _Night's Queen_ after her father's sword, _Night's King_.

 _Oh Brandon...I miss you. As does our only girl..._ Meria's eyes began to water in grief for her long dead love and father of her only child. Though Meria had a couple of paramours starting three years after Brandon's death (Why shouldn't she? She was still a young and comely woman, and she did not wish to live out the rest of her days alone), she still truly believed that Brandon Stark was her true love.

Princess Meria was only fourteen when she met sixteen-year-old Brandon Stark of Winterfell. It was at a tourney in King's Landing held for Prince Rhaegar's name day. Despite Brandon's betrothal to Catelyn Tully, he began to court Meria, who was just becoming known as the "Desert Rose" of House Martell, as if it were love at first sight. Meria was with her brother, Oberyn, watching him enlist when Brandon finally approached her after staring at her all morning and asked her for her favor. She fondly remembered that long summer and the five day long tourney, in which she saw Brandon compete and cheered him on for every event. During the nights, they'd have late night rendezvouses when they'd talk and kiss passionately while in each other's arms. He didn't win anything but the melee, which didn't allow the winner to crown a lady of his choosing as the Queen of Love and Beauty; however, as the winner, he was allowed to make a request of the King. Brandon, being stubborn and passionate, especially at the age of sixteen, asked King Aerys II if he could have a crown of red roses so that he may name Meria the _Princess_ of Love and Beauty. The crowd fell silent as nobody had ever asked such a thing of the king after winning the melee, but the King, back before he went mad, found the young man's request to be touching and romantically innovative. King Aerys accepted Brandon's request and the gentle and kind Queen Rhaella had her ladies in waiting take the pink roses from her own vase to make the crown for Meria right then and there. Meria, only having just come into her beauty and womanly figure, remembered her face flushing as she was summoned before the King and Queen for Brandon to crown her as his Princess of Love and Beauty. Though the roses were not red as Brandon had requested, Meria and he felt that the crown of pink roses was more fitting since she was the Desert Rose, which are pink, not red. The crowd cheered when Brandon placed the crown atop of Meria's dark, thick hair. Meria still had that crown actually, she had let the roses dry out and the crown now sits atop her dresser; now a nostalgic reminder of the love her and Brandon shared.

After the tourney ended and everyone went back to their respective homes, Brandon asked Meria if he could write to her, to which she accepted. One month later, she received her first letter from Brandon, much to her surprise; she was hoping that the dashingly handsome man would write her, but she didn't get her hopes up. For two years, they exchanged letters every other fortnight. Of course, Meria's mother and eldest brother warned her about not getting too attached to a man betrothed to another girl, but Meria was too smitten with Brandon to listen. In the end, she was thankful that she didn't.

Two years after the tourney at King's Landing, Meria and Brandon met again at another tourney at King's Landing, this time, it was to celebrate the birth of Prince Viserys. During the seven days their families were there, Meria and Brandon picked up where they'd left off two years earlier as if no time had passed at all. During one of their late night rendezvouses, Brandon admitted to Meria, who was being considered as a potential bride for Prince Rhaegar, that he did not wish to marry Catelyn Tully; instead, he wanted to marry Meria. Though Meria was as brash and passionate as any other Martell, even she had her doubts. She tried to reason with Brandon that they couldn't spurn their duty to their houses, to which he argued back that even the Seven believed that a person could not be married against their will, and he was no longer willing to marry the Tully girl.

 _I've fallen for another, you,_ he'd argued with Meria, _and I know that you've fallen for me; I've seen it in your letters,_ he said as he lovingly stroked her cheek. _We've written every other fortnight for two years and I feel like I know you better than I've ever known anyone. You've poured your heart out to me. Tell me you don't feel the same_ _way._

It was true, Meria had fallen in love with Brandon Stark, and after confessing their feelings, they went to Meria's grown brother, Prince Oberyn, for his consent, which he gave; and the next night, all three of them fled the Capitol to Barrowtown, the seat of House Dustin. Lord Dustin was at the tourney with Lady Dustin, so his cousin, Aden Dustin, was the acting lord of Barrowtown. Brandon knew Aden well from being fostered with him at Barrowtown, it didn't take long for Brandon to convince him to marry them in the Gods Wood. Meria had no gown to wear so Aden had the servant find her the white gown his own mother had worn when she was married in the same Gods Wood. Aden said it would be an honor for his best friend's wife to be married in his late mother's gown. Of course, Meria had to take the gown in due to her rather elegantly slight build of the Martells, but that very night, she and Brandon were married with Oberyn as their witness by Aden in front of the Heart Tree, in sight of the Old Gods, Brandon's and, later, Lyra's Gods.

Wedded and bedded, those three uninterrupted days Brandon and Meria had at Barrowtown as newlyweds will always be remembered as magical and romantic by Meria; however, it didn't take long for the Martells and the Starks to catch up with them. As Brandon, Lord Rickard Stark, and Meria's mother argued in Lord Dustin's solar, who had returned as well and was reprimanding Aden for not telling him about the wedding plans, Meria sat outside, waiting and terrified that their marriage would be annulled and her happiness would soon turn to ash in her mouth.

After what felt like half a day, Brandon came out, smiling happily, to tell Meria that the Starks and Martells had agreed to officially validate their marriage. However, the Meria's mother was still angry with her because they had to pay the Starks a larger dowry than they should have due to the fact that this meant Brandon broke his oath to Catelyn Tully. Everyone was angry with the newly wedded couple, save for Oberyn and Aden, but neither Brandon nor Meria cared; they were too happy to care.

Luckily, Lord Stark and Lord Tully were able to patch up their broken alliance, but at House Stark's expense. Meria and Brandon had to deal with much scorn from the older members of House Stark, but Lyanna and Eddard were nothing but kind to Meria, and Meria still thanks the Gods that Lyanna was happy to accept her so quickly as her good sister; Meria didn't think she would have survived Winterfell without Lyanna. Fortunately, nine months later, Meria gave birth to Brandon's first child, whom he named Lyra after his grandmother in the hopes that she would be gifted with great beauty, passion, and lovely voice as her name sake. After Lyra's birth, the older Stark's anger was mostly quelled, and a year and a half later, Robb was born to Catelyn and Ned. Though Meria still felt guilty for unintentionally putting her good brother in an awkward position; when Lord Stark went to Riverrun to patch their relations up, he took Ned with him to offer his second son to Hoster Tully as a husband for Catelyn. Meria heard that Hoster accepted Rickard's terms, however, Ned and Catelyn had to be married right away and Brandon's heir had to marry one of their children. The fathers agreed to each others' terms and Ned and Catelyn were married the following day, without Brandon and Meria in attendance; Lord and Lady Stark felt that their presence at the wedding would insult House Tully further.

For four years, Meria and Brandon and their daughter, Lyra, were happy. After Catelyn gave birth to Robb at Riverrun, they and Ned came North so that they could all live together, happily, as a family; Robb's birth quelled Catelyn's anger towards Meria and Brandon enough for her to be able to forgive them. Knowing she had wounded the other girl's pride, Meria warmly greeted Catelyn at her homecoming with Ned and Robb to Winterfell. She wanted so desperately for Catelyn to feel as much a Lady Stark as herself and win her over that Meria even gave Catelyn equal rights to her own rooms and solar. It took some time, but Meria eventually won over Cat, as Catelyn eventually asked Meria to call her.

Indeed, they'd all lived as a big happy family, until the day Brandon rode South to save the supposedly kidnapped Lyanna from Prince Rhaegar...


	2. The Heirs to House Stark

**Author's Note: I do not own _Game of Thrones_ , the TV series, nor do I own George R. 's book series it is based on, _A Song of Fire and Ice_ , or any characters affiliated with these two titles.**

**Face Claims**

**Lyra Stark: Adelaide Kane (longer face)**

**Princess Meria Martell: Emmanuelle Chriqui (Character age-36)**

**Ashara Dayne: Olivia Holt (Character age-19)**

**Lord Brandon Stark: Eoin Macken (Character age at death-22)**

**Princess Arienne Martell: Amber Rose Revah (Character age-22)**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Heirs to House Stark**

Up in the Broken Tower, a young woman let out small grunts as she was being forced to parry the onslaught of attacks from the small lad in front of her. Beginning to smile slightly, the maiden then quickly stopped the look of mirth from creeping onto her face. When she sparred with her cousins, they constantly told her to stop "breaking face" because it gave her away when she knew she was about to defeat her opponent.

Waiting for the inevitable parry at the top near her head, the maiden smiled before literally breaking the boy's attack; stopping his sword with her own before suddenly, and strongly, breaking his hold. Doing so, she caused the boy to stumble backwards.

"Ah!" the boy was surprised when he fell on his bum. The force of the maiden's parry causing him to fall back and his sparring sword to be thrown from his hands. "Hey! Lyra! I thought you said no breaking this time," the lad told her in a manner so undignified for his highborn birth. In fact, it was so undignified that you'd mistake Bran for any common Northerner.

"You're exactly right Little Lord Brandon Stark!" Lyra playfully japed at her young cousin before pulling herself out of the awkward defensive sword that she had ended the duel with.

Watching Lyra from where he'd landed on the floor, Bran's older cousin straighten herself back up in such a fluid and graceful movement- a movement that he knew could only come from Lyra's eleven years of training everyday with the Sand Snakes or a Master at Arms. Though both of Bran's older brothers, Lyra Stark and Theon Greyjoy had their own unique style of swordplay, Bran would still say that Lyra and Jon were similar in the way they wielded weaponry. Bran's cousin and bastard half-brother both preferred to fight using speed and agility to their advantage, but this was probably due to the fact that both warriors were built more slim and graceful; unlike Robb and Theon, who both preferred to fight in a manner which was similar to Father's.

Walking to where her little cousin had fallen, Lyra added, "Which is why when I say that I _won't_ do something; it usually means that I will be doing that very thing," Lyra advised her young "pupil". Though she knew that it wasn't fair to fight Bran in such a "dishonorable" way, she also knew that in a real sword fight, Bran's opponent would not likely be fighting with honor. Despite the fact that knights fought "honorably" in tourneys, Lyra was acutely aware that when there was no crowd to judge them, those same knights would use every trick to their advantage. Therefore, if Lyra was going to help teach Bran how to fight like a "real" swordsman, then she knew that she needed to act as if she were fighting one of the Sand Snakes.

 _The Sand Snakes..._ they were Lyra's sly bastard cousins with almost insatiable bloodlusts; and they _most certainly do not fight_ with what the Northman liked to call"honor". This, in Lyra's opinion, made them better sparring partners than any of the knights in all Seven Kingdoms. Despite being women, Lyra and her bastard cousins still practiced, trained and fought everyday like highborn boys and men; which Lyra supposed was why she could hold her own in a one-on-one duel against Robb, Jon, and Theon.

Sighing inwardly, Bran felt annoyed at his cousin's advice to expect the unexpected. Lyra's swordplay was a hybrid between the Northern and Dornish style, but she tended to favor the latter. While the Northmen were strong and people of the Old Ways, which their swordplay usually reflected; the Dornish were swift and cunning, thus using a style of swordplay that tended to favor this. Even if the Dornish style called for trickery.

Wanting to get on with their session before they were interrupted, Lyra straightened out her black dress. Though spending six moons in Winterfell every year since she was twelve, Lyra still couldn't get used to the Northern style of dress; which is why she usually had her dresses commissioned in Dorne or she made them herself. The dress she was wearing today, though, was a dress she'd made with the specific intent on making it a garment that easy to spar in. Beneath the dress, Lyra wore her dark grey wool shift for warmth, as always. The dress itself was black with a direwolf stitched in grey on her shoulder, and it had low v-neckline, showing her woolen, but finely spun shift with a neckline that ended a finger's length below her collar bone. For additional ease of movement, the dress was made with three large black buttons, which started at the middle of her chest and ended just below her natural waist. To complete the dress decked in the sigil and colors of House Stark, a silver sash was tied at her waist. Then, to top it all off, Lyra wore a silver ring with the Stark dire wolf molded onto it, a silver pendant of a weirwood tree with red leaves and a dire wolf howling at the bottom, in addition to matching earrings of weirwood branches with red leaves. Bran's cousin also usually wore khol eyeliner just like the Dornish, much to Mother's dismay, to protect her eyes from the sun's rays; which could be as harsh in the North as it is in Dorne due to the reflected sunlight on the snow. However, due to the cloudy day and the fact that they would be staying indoors for most of the day, Lyra had skipped her Dornish eyeliner today. This occurred less than half of the time, but it still disappointed Bran and Arya when Lyra didn't wear her eyeliner since they found this to be quite novel. Also, it fascinated the two young Starks in part because Lyra typically painted the liner on in such a way that would make her eyes look like a wolf's.

Picking up the sparing sword, which was lying in front of her, Lyra helped little Bran to his feet before giving it back to him. Seeing her cousin's crestfallen face at falling into her "trap", she reassured him; "Let's go again, practice is the only way you'll get good at spotting traps and such." Throwing back her dark plaited hair, she added, "Again: this time, expect the unexpected and attack where it's unexpected!"

Lowering herself into her sword stance, Lyra waited for Bran's first blow, well, if one could call it that; she doubted that the lad was old enough to hurt her even if he really wanted to. Though she liked giving Bran additional training to the training he received from his older brothers and the Master at Arms, Lyra had to remind herself that she needed to go easy on such a novice, especially one who was only half her size.

Signaling Bran to begin, Lyra got on the defense while he prepared to swing at her. Inwardly groaning in frustration that her cousin wasn't thinking his strategy through before executing it, Lyra watched Bran charge her recklessly. Waiting until the young Stark boy was within distance, Lyra quickly side stepped out of his way a few seconds before his strike could land on her. However, being in such excellent control due to years of practice, she still caught her adorable little cousin before he could hurt himself by crashing into the wall that was previously at her back.

Laughing as she steadied Bran; "Now I _know_ that _you know_ what went wrong with _that_ —whatever you call it!" Lyra couldn't help herself from laughing. Bran and her had been at this for a while now, and Lyra could even feel a little sweat trickling down her back. It seemed that the more frustrated he became, the more sweaty she became. What worried her though was that she could sense that little Bran was becoming frustrated with his seeming lack of progress.

"It's called a charge," Bran mumbled his answer to her, "Jon taught me yesterday." Though visibly irritated that the "charge" hadn't worked, Bran brightened at the mention of one of his big brothers teaching him a move.

The warmth and affection that creeped onto Bran's face at the mentioning of Jon warmed Lyra's heart. The Starks were such a loving family and the younger ones tended to look up to their older siblings, who tried to teach them as much as they could about everything they knew.

Smiling cheekily, Bran added to his older cousin, "He told me that I should use it on _you_!"

Ruffling little Brann's red-brown hair, Lyra retorted, "He did, did he? Well! We shall have to see how he fares against me later this afternoon!" She declared rather grandly.

Though Lady Stark had banned all public display of Lyra's martial skills, the older Stark cousins, and even Theon, all managed to make time to spar against Lyra at least one of them everyday, much to the younger Starks' delight. Little Bran, Rickon, and Arya enjoyed watching their cousin's mixed Northern and Dornish martial style in a duel against their older brothers and Theon. Sansa would occasionally observe with utmost attention as well before telling Lyra that it was unlady-like of her to carry a sword to begin with, let alone to be sparing with noblemen.

Like her mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, Sansa also abhorred the fact that Lyra Stark, who was still technically a Lady, carried a sword _and_ knew how to use it. However, Lyra was not being fostered with the Starks, instead, she was their yearly guest; thus, Lady Stark could abhor her decision to practice swordplay, but she couldn't ban her niece from doing so all together without Lord Stark's command and Prince Doran Martell's agreement since Lyra was under the protection of her mother's house until her marriage. Besides, Lyra's lord uncle, Ned, found her talent and unique swordplay to be amusing if she wasn't mistaken; Lord Ned Stark would often watch Lyra spar with his sons and ward, all the while he would be smiling and laughing as they practiced. More that once, Uncle Ned would tell Lyra how proud Brandon would be of his daughter for having "wolf blood" in her, which is what Uncle Ned attributed to Lyra's desire to fight. He would also tell her of how he thinks that if her aunt, Lyanna Stark, was still alive, Lyra and Arya would probably be her favorite nieces because of their love for swordplay and archery over the more feminine pursuits.

Ever since Robb turned fourteen years though, he's avoided sparing with Lyra ever since. When Lyra confronted him on the matter and asked the heir to Winterfell as to the reason why, his response was that she was his betrothed; thus, it felt wrong for him to spar with her anymore now that she was a lady, who was soon to be his lady, and that he was reaching manhood. This made Lyra angrier than a cornered scorpion and made her wish that Uncle Ned, Mother and Prince Doran hadn't agreed to a marriage between her and Robb. However, Lyra supposed that for the sake of political stability, which is still quite fragile in the Seven Kingdoms, the betrothal is a good idea.

During the start of Robert's Rebellion, Lyra's mother, Princess Meria Martell, tried to garner support from the Northmen in Lyra's name as Lord Brandon Stark's only heir. Unfortunatley for them though, Meria and the rest of the Martells underestimated the loyalty of the Northmen, of whom, save for Houses Bolton and Karstark, declared Ned Stark as their liege lord instead of the heir of Lord Rickard Stark's heir. The line of succession for lordship felt quite complicated for Lyra compared to Dorne; but Lyra knew that Ned was favored over her because Mother's house fought for the Crown, and the succession tended to favor men over women in the North. Therefore, since Uncle Ned's supporters outnumbered a four-year old Lyra's, Princess Meria begrudgingly sailed for Dorne.

The Martells, who fought for the Crown since Princess Elia Martell was the wife of Prince Rhaegar, feared Meria being stuck in the North; which is why Lyra's grandmother ordered Mother back to Dorne with Lyra where they could be surrounded and protected by loyal family. However, Meria never gave up on Lyra's claim to Winterfell as she was expecting the rebel forces to lose. Unfortunately though, her expectations fell through when Prince Rhaegar was killed at the Trident, and her hopes dashed after the Sacking of King's Landing by Lord Tywin Lannister.

Though the majority of the North ultimately held Uncle Ned's claim to Winterfell over Lyra's, Lord Jon Arryn claimed that there was still the potential for Dorne to help Lyra claim the traditional House Stark seat in Winterfell. In fact, he even warned Uncle Ned and Robert Baratheon that this potential for great political turmoil would increase if the remaining Targaryens ever attempted to re-take the Iron Throne. Therefore, to solve these potentially devastating problems, as well as to bring Dorne back to the kingdoms peacefully, Jon Arryn advised Uncle Ned to betroth Brandon's heir to the new heir to Winterfell under King Robert I's reign.

Lyra was six years when the Rebellion ended, and eight years when Jon Arryn, the new Hand of the King, rode to Dorne under peace banners with Uncle Ned to start negotiations. During this time, Lyra remained in Sunspear with Prince Oberyn, who was made the acting Prince of Dorne, while the newly titled Ruling Prince of Dorne, Prince Doran Martell, and Princess Meria rode to Wyl. Now, being eighteen years, Lyra sadly remembered very little of all of this.

All Lyra remembers now is traveling to Winterfell when she was ten years, almost eleven, and reuniting with her Stark family for the formal betrothal between herself and nine year old Robb. Lyra remembers initially being upset with the whole ordeal; not only did she have to marry her cousin, whose father was and is the best friend as well as the foster brother of the Usurper, but her betrothed was almost two years younger than she. Due to these factors, it took Lyra and Robb many years to establish a romance.

Up until Lyra was fifteen, Robb and Jon, and later, Theon, were only interested in sparing and practicing archery with her, but after Robb turned fourteen, he suddenly stopped calling her "horse face" and began courting her. Lyra didn't know how to react at first because Robb had only shown her how disinterested he was in their future marriage. Fortunatly though, Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat had picked up on her confusion and inability to respond to Robb appropriately; after a private talk with her aunt and uncle, who revealed that Robb was reaching manhood, and he was thus beginning to take interest in maidens, Lyra began to awkwardly, at first, respond positively to Robb's unrefined flirtations. Now, as Lyra is soon to be nineteen and Robb seventeen, flirtation is a regular occurance between them and they are looking forward to their wedding.

Telling Bran that sword practice was over for the day, Lyra hid the practice swords in their usual place. She then searched for her sword belt and put on Night's Queen; a short, thin curved blade designed for a woman to use it, and yet so easily concealed in Lyra's cloaks. As she began to pull on her dark grey cloak trimmed in light grey furs to go outside to the courtyard with Bran, Maester Luwin came in.

"Lady Lyra, don't forget about today's lesson with Bran-by the Gods!" The Maester of Winterfell looked as if he had just caught Lyra and Robb in an inappropriate position...again.

Shutting the door and lowering his voice, Maester Luwin told Lyra, "I understand that things are done differently in Dorne, and you are well within your rights to carry steel if you so wish; but please try to remember that you will be the future Lady Stark of Winterfell in only a year," the old man reminded her. "And above all, this sort of thing is deemed inappropriate for ladies by Lady Stark and it upsets her to see you doing it." The master finished, slightly scolding Lyra. Though she generally liked Luwin, she found him to be quite a thorn in her side when it came to sparring.

After calming Luwin down by assuring him that she was only giving Bran a lesson in Dornish swordplay and that none of Aunt Cat's rules regarding sparing had not been broken, he reminded Lyra that King Robert would arrive any day. He then also reminded her that it was she who was to teach Bran his lesson over the Targaryens that day, since Luwin was too busy with helping Lady Stark prepare for their royal guests.

Looking at Bran, Lyra felt a little sorry for him his face was lit up with excitement until he was reminded of his unfinished lesson. The lad had too much energy for his little body to contain! Thinking for a moment while Bran readied to go, Lyra came up with an idea that may satisfy Bran and the maester both. Reminding Luwin of her book on the Targaryen dragons, which was gifted to her by Rhaegar himself, she asked if it was okay to teach Brann's lesson with it. In fact, Lyra even went so far as to argue that teaching with this book might actually be deemed more appropriate.

Hearing the future Lady Stark out and looking at Bran's face, which lit up again at the mention of the red leather tome, Maester Luwin relented to the request. However, the maester would only agree to this if Lyra promised to cover all of the dragons from Aegon the conqueror to the last living Targeryen dragon. After swearing that she would do as he asked, Luwin seemed satisfied and left the tower to continue helping Aunt Cat.

After Maester Luwin left, Bran looked up at Lyra brightly; "Really?! I get to learn about dragons from one of Prince Rhaegar's books?! A book the last dragon himself used to learn about dragons!"

Leading Bran out the door of the tower, Lyra smiled at his excitement. "Of course you do!" She winked. "Who's the best cousin in Westros?" She asked little Bran with mirth in her voice.

"You're the best cousin in the world, Lyra!" Bran exclaimed as they walked to Lyra's chamber to retrieve the book.

* * *

Taking a short break to look out the window, Lady Catelyn Stark closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. She saw Bran in the courtyard with Lyra, who had her red book about Targeryen Dragons in her lap. Both of them disheveled looking. Cat had told Lyra not to practice swordplay in public, but Ned always allowed it for so long as it was kept private, sometimes he even encouraged it much to Cat's ire.

 _Is it private anymore if everyone knows where you practice and when you've just finished?_ Cat mused to herself. Just then, Maester Luwin emerged with documents regarding House Stark's stores.

As the maester was trying to tell Cat how much food and drink they had, she interrupted him to ask a question. She wanted to know Luwin's opinion on her future daughter in law as the future Lady Stark and wife to her first born child.

"Despite being more Dornish than Northman, I believe that Lady Lyra will make a fine Lady Stark. She's already successfully courted the other Northern houses, she's well versed in Northern history and culture, and she knows how to run a household," Luwin replied with confidence. Since Lyra was a little girl, her bright mind and her ability to retain and use the wealth of knowledge she read in his library had been evident to him.

"I know all of that," Lady Stark told him. "What worries me is all of her other…unique attributes." By "unique attributes", she meant Lyra's talent with swords and other weaponry, among other things.

"You're worried about how her fondness for war and swords, my lady?" Receiving an affirmative nod from his lady, the maester answered; "Dorne is quite a different place, even from the rest of Westros. The Dornish inheritance laws are equal and, generally, any man or woman is welcome to pick up a weapon and learn to fight." Luwin also reminded her that the Warrior Princess Nymeria of the Rhyonar, is responsible for uniting Dorne under House Martell, in addition to integrating a culture of equality and passion.

"I suppose that from your perspective, Lady Stark, Lyra's knowledge of warfare, politics, and martial skills is troublesome and unbecoming of a proper lady outside of Dorne. From another perpective though, Lady Lyra's skill and knowedge in these areas will be quite useful when she is married to Robb." Lady Stark giving him a curious look, so Luwin extrapolated; "These are very unstable times, my lady. Lyra's uncommon skills among ladies indicate that should the North go to war once more, then she can use these talents to help the Northern cause. Though we are currently in times of peace, that peace could easily be shattered, and if it does shatter, then who better for Robb to seek council and confide in than his own lady wife?"

Lady Stark took a moment before admitting that the latter perspective could be quite useful to Robb or House Stark and the North in general. _Not to mention the solidified Dornish alliance Robb will enjoy—an alliance we are enjoying right now actually_ , she thought, remembering the three crates of lemons Prince Doran always sent North with Lyra as an annual gift to House Stark for having her as their guest.

Seeing that Lady Stark's worries were still not put to rest, the maester added, "Robb has shown great interest and fondness for Lyra at the prospect of their upcoming marriage. I even believe that Robb may be falling in love with Lyra already; and from what I've observed over the past few years, Lyra feels the same as Robb. As with many ladies like Lyra, perhaps after birthing a child or two for Robb, her warrior's spirit will wane in order for her spirit of a mother to be born and replace it. She does not have many responsibilities now, but after becoming Lady Stark, Lyra will likely be too busy for sparing and war. Unless, the Gods forbid, Robb should die with a son on Lyra; in that case, we may actually be grateful for her unique abilities as they will no doubt ensure that Winterfell stays with the Starks, including the survival of House Stark." Watching as Lady Stark considered his words with caution, Luwin concluded; "I wouldn't worry too much Lady Stark. Lyra already has a good balance of her warrior's spirit and her duties as the future Lady Stark if you can look past her sword." That seemed to satisfy her.

Mind put at ease by Luwin's trusted and wise opinions, Lady Stark looked out the window wistfully. Looking beyond the battlements and towards the forest, Cat reminisced about catching Robb and Lyra sharing a kiss in a particular clearing during a beautiful summer snow. Robb was fifteen and Lyra had just had her seventeenth name day. That was a good year for them; Robb and Lyra's courtship took off better that Cat or Ned had ever expected. However, the fact that Lyra had finally grown into her long and narrow face that year didn't hurt either, nor did the fact that Lyra was continuing to grow into a more beautiful, exotic maiden as each year passed.

 _By the Gods, Lyra was certainly an unattractive and awkward girl from the ages of eleven until she was fifteen. However, by the gace of the Old Gods and the New, when Lyra visited at the age of fifteen, she suddenly became quite the exotic beauty._ Indeed, Cat was afraid that Lyra would remain awkward and unattractive forever, now, Cat thanked the Gods for blessing her strapping, handsome son with a beautiful maiden. Though Lyra was always olive skinned from the Dornish sun upon her arrival, after a couple of months, her skin always turned creamy fair. That creamy skin was accentuated with her thick, rich almost black hair and warm dark brown doe eyes. That along with her intelligence and ability to be a perfect lady, just like Sansa, when her sword wasn't around made Cat reconsider Lyra as a perfect bride for Robb.

 _I wonder which Gods Robb and Lyra will marry before._ Cat wondered. Though Dorne followed the Seven, including Princess Meria, Lyra had been seen keeping more with the Old Gods than the new, despite being well versed in the Seven Pointed Star, as was the case with Robb. Being born Starks and the future Lord and Lady Stark, Cat supposed that Robb and Lyra would likely be married before the Old Gods at Winterfell. Oh! But Cat also wanted to see Robb married in the sight of the New Gods as well! _Perhaps they can do both_ , she thought. _Robb will be eighteen soon, I need to start planning with Meria. Robb and Lyra will be married by next year._

"Lady Stark?"

Maester Luwin snapped Cat from her thoughts and they continued with the inventory.

* * *

Lyra often had difficulty concentrating on her lessons at Bran's age, which is why her mother or uncle or the maester would try to teach her in ways that made learning feel more like a game. Bran was too excited for learning much since he discovered that the King and his court would be arriving any day; so Lyra tried to make learning as fun as she could with Bran, which was nothing new anymore. Maester Luwin was too busy with the preparations to give Bran his lessons so that task had fallen on Lyra for a week now. Not that she minded; she read a lot so she knew a lot, which Luwin knew and was why he asked her to do it. Besides, little Bran was so charming she liked teaching him anyways.

First, Lyra let Bran flip through Rhaegar's book for a while before their lesson. It distracted him while she fixed her hair and clothes as well as his. Satisfied that nobody would be able to tell that they were sparing, Lyra collected him from his room and they went to the courtyard. Too excited for the King to stay still, Lyra let Bran hop along a stone hedge while she read to him about the Targaryen Kings and their dragons. They went all the way from Aegon the Conqueror to Aegon III, talking about their reigns and their dragons. They even talked about the precedences each king created for the Crown, why the Faith allowed them to practice incest and take more than one wife, and why they lost their dragons.

Lyra was about to have Bran recite to her about Aegon I sister wives as warriors when Arya came up to them. Robb and Jon were going to teach her and Bran archery. When Lyra told Arya that Bran still needed to recite about Aegon I's sister wives, she looked at her little brother before saying:

"Queen Visenya was Aegon's oldest sister. She rode Vhagar into battle while wielding her Valeryen steel sword, Dark Sister. It is said that Aegon married her for duty, but he married his youngest sister, Rhaenys, out of passion. She rode the dragon Meraxes and died during the First Dornish War. Visenya was the warrior, Rhaenys was the dragonrider; she spent twice as much time on her dragon than her brother and sister, and she only rode into battle. Meraxes was her weapon of choice whereas Visenya wielded Dark Sister."

After Arya finished, Lyra stared at her, exasperated. "I believe that I asked Bran. _Not you._ " At Lyra's scolding, Arya just shrugged her off and asked if Bran could come practice archery now. Defeated, Lyra gave in and told Bran that she would expect him to recite everything to her before tomorrow's lesson. Watching her two young cousins run to the archery range, Lyra thought to herself that Arya should have been born Dornish before closing the red book and heading to her room to put it back in storage.

Robb Stark and Jon Snow were teaching an excited Bran and Arya Stark how to hold a bow and shoot an arrow. Unsurprising to Jon, but shocking to Theon and Robb, Arya was learning faster than her brother.

"Hold the drawn arrow closer to your cheek Bran," Jon advised his little half-brother. Starting to feel as frustrated as Bran with the lack of results, he suddenly felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"How's the lesson going?" Lyra asked Jon, who mumbled "not as well as we'd hoped". Laughing at how good a teacher yet how easily frustrated Jon tends to be, Lyra offered; "He's excited for the King's arrival. Don't be too hard on him," she winked at the last part.

Missing the target again, Bran looked down, crestfallen. "Don't worry Bran," Lyra comforted him, "you'll become an excellent marksman one day. You just have to practice everyday like we do."

"When you were ten, you were already winning contests for archery in Dorne," Bran mumbled back, embarrassed. Lyra told him that was all because she began learning to use a bow at the age of six, and Bran was just now learning. "I bet it won't take you four years like it did for me to get the hang of it." That seemed to perk him up enough to keep trying.

Walking over to Robb and Arya, Lyra was quite impressed to see that Arya was already hitting the heads. "You must be a good teacher," Lyra said to Robb after Arya impressively hit one between the eyes.

Just now noticing that his betrothed had arrived to watch, Robb straightened up to look taller. "Maybe," he smiled to Lyra, "But I think this one may have been cheating."

"I haven't been cheating!" Arya retaliated.

"Oh? Then why did you know how to draw the arrow properly before I'd even taught you?" Robb asked mockingly.

"Fine! Jon and Lyra have been teaching me when they're not busy," Arya stated to her brother angrily.

Robb looked at Lyra in shock, to which she responded that it wasn't swordplay, just archery. Everyone should learn to use a bow whether they're young, old, man, or woman.

"Speaking of which, have you been sparing? You look it." Robb asked.

Shit. Lyra had been had. Trying to pretend as if she had no idea what he was getting at, she asked him how he'd know if she was or wasn't.

Shaking his head, Robb told her, "You may have brushed your hair out and straightened your clothes, but—" Leaning down to Lyra's ear, he added, "you always have a nice glow on your face that tells me you've been engaging in some…strenuous activities."

Laughing and pushing Robb's shoulder gently, Lyra asked him how he'd know about when she's engaged in strenuous activities. Smiling mischievously, Robb whispered that he knows because he'd seen a similar glow on her face after a rendezvous in the moonlit forrest. Scoffing, Lyra was going to tell him that he had no idea what he was talking about before Arya decided to butt in.

"Did I do well Lyra?!" She asked excitedly.

Looking at her target, Lyra was indeed quite impressed. "You might actually have a talent for archery."

Arya couldn't hold back her smile. She admired Lyra for spurning propriety to pursue her martial talents. Not surpsiing considering that Arya's heroes from history are Nymeria and Visenya. "Will you train me more? Please!"

"Mmmm…I don't think your mother would like that. Best stick with Robb or Jon." Lyra was already pushing boundaries by teaching Bran swordplay.

Arya's mouth dropped in disappointment. "But you're the best!"

"On about this again are we?" Jon asked his youngest sister, clearly exasperated.

"Do I hear the sounds of an archery contest beginning?" Theon suddenly showed up, a skin of ale in hand.

"Why? Do you plan to lose, Theon?" Robb mocked.

"Oh no! I'm not competing, you three are," he motioned at Jon, Robb, and Lyra.

At Theon's suggestion, the three of them looked at each other with the spirit of competition blazing in their eyes. The four older children were already quite competitive with each other, which is why they usually had so many contests.

Retrieving the bow from Arya, Lyra went to the target and retrieved the arrows. "I'll do it if you two will," she told Jon and Robb. "That is, unless you're too afraid of losing to a girl." At that, the contest was on. Lyra knew exactly how to goad Jon and Robb.

Having Arya judge Robb, Theon judge Lyra, and Bran judge Jon, each judge was to count how many shots their archers accurately hit. The contest began with Theon telling everyone to aim for the right shoulders. Next up was the left shoulder, between the eyes, the throat, the heart, the forhead, the belly, the balls, left eye, and then right eye.

Robb, Lyra, and Jon waited for the judges to finish counting. Jon and Lyra tied, but Robb won the contest.

"See? I told you Robb was better than he lets on," Lyra told a pouting Arya. Truth be told though, Robb seemed to be the best at everything, even Jon agreed with that sentiment.

"Arya! Arya! It's time for your lessons!" Septa Mordane called.

Growling in frustration, Arya told everyone bye before leaving to her lessons with the septa. Lyra pitied Arya; the little girl did not excel in the feminine pursuits like her older sister, Sansa. Although Lyra herself was competent in these traditional feminine arts as well, she was also happy that she no longer had to go to these lessons when she was sixteen years.

After everyone had settled back down, Robb and Jon continued their lesson with Bran. Lyra, growing bored, asked Theon if he'd share his ale with her. Already intoxicated, Theon replied "of course" and held out his arm to her. Taking Theon's arm, Lyra and he walked up the steps to the platform that overlooked the archery range.

Handing Lyra the ale, she downed the rest of it, to which Theon asked her if she had a rouge day. "No," she replied, but she was growing stressed by the day waiting for King Robert I arrival.

Leaning against the wooden platform, Theon understood. He was dreading the King's visit as much as Lyra. Neither of them wanted to see Robert because their families fought against him, but they were going to have to accept that he was coming and be gracious about it.

Every so often, Robb would act like something Lyra and Greyjoy said had distracted him, only to smile with embarrassment upon being caught. Though being Dornish, and thus, Lyra was not sheltered from sex, those looks Robb gave her could still make her face heat at times.

"Someone's getting a little red," Theon japed at Lyra.

"I am not," she retorted, trying her best to look disinterested.

"Say what you will," Theon said more to himself. "Miracle that it's happening at all," he mumbled.

Lord and Lady Stark soon joined them at the platform to watch the Stark children. Upon observing, Lyra's Lord uncle, Ned Stark, let out a hearty laugh; "Reminds me of when your father and I were teaching Benjen to shoot," he said to everyone, but looking at Lyra. "Your aunt Lyanna even used to watch from the spot you're standing in now. Except, she didn't have handsome lads throwing glances at her like you do," he added almost wistfully.

"Lord Stark," Rodrick Cassel walked up the platform. "Lady Stark," he acknowledged. "A deserter from the Night's Watch."

As soon as Rodrick spoke of the deserter, Ned's "Lord Stark" face replaced his Uncle Ned demeanor. "Get the boys, and tell Bran he's coming too." Lady Stark tried to argue, but Ned reminded her that this was the North and Winter is coming. Watching her husband walk down the platform, Aunt Cat look at Bran with pity. She felt that a boy of his age and demeanor shouldn't see such things yet.

Excusing herself from Lady Stark's presence, Lyra followed her uncle down the platform. Catching up to her lord uncle below, Lyra asked to come along as well.

"This is no place for a lady, Lyra," Ned told her firmly.

"I know that it's not," she agreed with her uncle. "But if I'm going to be Lady Stark one day, then I need to know how it's done. What if Robb dies and I have to teach my sons?"

"Lyra…"

"You know me Lord Stark. If Robb ever went to war and I had to hold Winterfell for him, I would feel obligated to perform the executions myself as Brandon Stark's only heir," Lyra argued. She didn't want to be left out.

Lord Stark sighed, not wanting to argue. "You can come, but no tears. No breaking face. If you do, then you'll never be allowed to see another so long as I'm Lord of Winterfell."

Nodding her head, Lyra ran to the stables to ready her horse.

"L-lord Stark! But she—She's a bloody woman!" Theon objected as they rode to the execution.

"Yes, and this bloody woman has probably seen more executions than you have! Did you know that we still draw and quarter and disembowel in Dorne? Exciting." Lyra told him dryly.

As she put on her gloves to ride, Lyra noticed her betrothed give her an expectant look as he readied to get on his own horse. Feeling exasperated with the Starks and their strange opinions that women can't sword fight, Lyra got on her horse and rode up to Robb.

"You know, like it or not, if you leave for war or court, then I'm in charge as acting Lady of Winterfell. It will take a while for our sons to even be old enough to weild a sword, let alone carry out a proper execution," she tried to soothe her betrothed.

"No, Lyra, you don't have to carry them out even if that happens. That's why we had men to do for my mother during those times. Besides, you'll be Lady Stark; it's not expected of you." Robb was trying to avoid the inevitable argument that usually occurred when he disapproved of something Lyra regularly did in Dorne.

"Not expected of me?!" Lyra pulled her horse to a halt. All she could do was stare at Robb for a moment, incredulously. "My father was Brandon Stark of Winterfell and I am his heir. His sole heir." Blowing stray hairs from her face, she added more softly and with dignity, "I am a Stark as much as you, love. In addition to being my father's sole heir, I would argue that it would be, in fact, quite expected of me to adhere to and carry on The Old Way." This always drove Lyra mad; when the lads thought she was less a Northerner and an heir to Brandon Stark of Winterfell simply due to her gender. Even worse! Sometimes they believed that her honed skills with a sword was inherently lesser and a wasted talent due to her being a woman!


	3. The Pack

**Author's Note: Sorry for the late update! I've been busy studying for my boards! I haven't given up on any of my stories, I've just been busy.**

**Enjoy ^.^**

**In case anyone forgot:**

**Face Claims**

**Lyra Stark: Adelaide Kane (Longer jaw)**

**Princess Meria Martell: Emmanuelle Chriqui (Character age-36)**

**Tia Tavner: Anna Popplewell (character Age: 20)**

**Lord Brandon Stark: Eoin Macken (Character age at death-22)**

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Pack**

Robb and Lyra ended up arguing about her duties as the future Lady Stark of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North all the way up until they'd reached the execution site; but, they'd only stopped arguing because Lord Stark had told them to be quiet and settle their squabble later. Lyra and Robb could only fume at each other silently for the rest of the way. However, stubborn as they both were, Jon Snow could still hear the future Lord and Lady Stark occasionally muttering frustrated insults such as: "Honorable, condescending ass", from Lyra about Robb; and "Stubborn, pretentious hard-ass," from Robb about Lyra.

Riding between his half-brother and cousin, Jon sighed and shook his head at the two of them. Jon knew that no matter how much Lyra and Robb tended to argue, which was often, they _always_ made up in the end once their heads had cooled down. Sometimes, though, he thought that his two betrothed relatives were too stubborn and high strung for each other.

When they neared the execution grounds, Lyra felt the haunting weight of thousands of years at this execution site. As they rode, Lyra had visions of Stark Kings, The Kings of Winter, and Stark lords leading prisoners through the forest and hills to this site. Reaching the destination, Lyra began to try imagining her father execution traitors and men convicted of other treasons with Ice, the Stark's ancestral sword. Lyra had heard from her mother and uncle that her father, as acting Lord of Winterfell when grandfather Rickard was away, would perform these executions here, where she was now about to witness her lord uncle execute a man; but Lyra was only a young child during this time so she couldn't remember.

Dismounting from the horse she usually rode while in Winterfell, Lyra began to miss her sand steed, Brightsun, as she always did when she rode Summersnow, the white mare she rode in the North. The white mare with grey speckles on her hindquarters was a gift from Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat when they missed her thirteenth name day. They knew how much Lyra missed Brightsun while she was in Winterfell, but the stallion was a sand steed and thus, he wasn't meant for the harsh cold weather of the North; Lyra's aunt and uncle thought it would help make Winterfell feel more like home, something they'd been trying to do ever since her betrothal to Robb. It hadn't worked well, but Lyra was fond of her mare to be sure, and she was grateful to have such kind future in-laws.

As Jory Cassel took Summersnow to be tied with the rest of the horses, Lyra went to see if Bran needed any help dismounting from the adult stallion that had been saddled for him.

"I can do it, Lyra! I'm not a child..." Bran had told her indignantly before he had to _jump_ down from the stallion, almost falling to his knees while doing so. Though she was slightly embarrassed that her offer to help had been turned down so harshly by her dear cousin, Lyra had to smiled slightly at how similar the lad was to her when she was his age. Like Lyra, Bran and Arya were rather brash and had always felt the need to prove their independence, and thus tended to harshly spurn help, even when they needed it.

After making sure that Bran got off his stallion safely, Lyra picked up her skirts and began to walk up the hill to the executioner's block where her lord uncle, Theon, Robb, and Ser Roderick were already preparing for the execution. Reaching the top, Lyra was slightly irritated that Theon was standing next to Robb; being Robb's betrothed and a potential inheritor to Winterfell in her own right, Lyra's place among the Starks during formal gatherings was between next to Robb. Using her hands to part Theon and Robb so that she could take her rightful place next to the future Lord Stark, she slightly shoved Theon so he was next to her and the two briefly exchanged indignant looks. Lyra glaring at Theon for still trying to muscle her out of the execution, and Theon glaring at Lyra for being a highborn lady trying to muscle her way into a situation in which he felt she didn't belong.

After everyone was in place, Lord Stark held a sheathed Ice and meditated with his eyes closed as the guards brought the deserter. Looking at the deserter, who was currently mumbling _white walkers_ to himself, Lyra saw that he was no more than a lad who looked to have barely just reached manhood. Despite the fact that the deserter was an oath breaker who had dishonored himself, she still couldn't help but to feel an amount of pity for him. She thought him a mad man, but if she had seen white walkers, she'd have fled as far south as she could too, real or not. However, her opinion of the deserter as a mad man soon changed.

As the deserter was led to Lord Stark for his last words, all of the fear and the crazed look on his face suddenly melted away. "I should have gone back and warned them," the deserter spoke coherently. "I know I'm an oath breaker for that, but I saw what I saw. If you get word to my family, tell them...tell them that I didn't die a coward." It wasn't a plea; it was a statement, request and a warning. Remembering the mad men she'd seen in her life, in Lyra's experience, mad men remained mad men all the way up until they died. They didn't just suddenly become coherent and calm in the face of their impending death, if anything, they tended to become even more mad due to the stress. Despite being such a learned and logical woman, Lyra often found herself being superstitious about this man's words about the White Walkers. However, she shook these thoughts off and kept her focus; she wanted to prove herself to the other Starks, and she also didn't want to disappoint Uncle Ned.

When Theon helped Lord Stark take Ice out of its dire wolf pelt of a sheath, the Stark banner men who'd caught the deserter shoved the lad to his knees and placed his neck on the ancient executioner's block.

Taking a deep breath as if to calm himself and to focus, Lord Stark folded his hands over the pommel of Ice before saying the words: "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Lyra watched, unflinchingly, as Lord Stark effortlessly raised the massive, heavy long sword and cut the deserter's head off in one fluid swing.

Everyone was silent as they all packed up to ride back to Winterfell, each person engrossed in his or her own private thoughts. Lyra couldn't stop thinking about what the deserter had said about the White Walkers. She wanted to believe as Lord Stark did that the deserter was nothing more than a mad man, but she couldn't help the feeling of fear and dread in the pit of her stomach. Apparently Bran couldn't either, given the conversation Lyra was currently overhearing between the lad and his father, who tried to assure him that "a mad man sees what he sees." This response seemed to somewhat satisfy Bran as Lyra saw his face appear a little less worried, but it did nothing to quell Lyra's growing fear; in her experience, when Lord Stark tried to brush off terrible rumors as just mad men talking about mad things, he was usually doing so because he himself gave at least _some_ credence to the rumors.

Looking across Summersnow's saddle, Lyra saw Robb giving her a slight nod, as if to say "well done", to which she nodded and softly smiled in response. Their argument was now over. Before getting onto her mare, Lord Stark came up to her.

"You handled yourself well too today, Lyra," Lord Stark said to her, his grey eyes misty. "Brandon would be proud of you today as his sole heir. You did better than some of us here, in fact," Lord Stark added glancing at Theon, who had laughed while kicking the severed head earlier. "Perhaps you _have_ been underestimated due to your status as a lady," he said loud enough for the Stark boys to hear before affectionately patting his fierce niece on her shoulder. He then quietly added that he saw a lot of her father and aunt in her today before leaving her to tend to his own horse. Lyra smiled to herself; Lord Stark was gone and Uncle Ned had finally returned.

The Stark party had been riding for hours now, taking the long way back to Winterfell since Ned felt the beautiful forests would help take Bran off edge from witnessing his first execution. Though Lyra loved Summersnow, the mare was definitely not as smooth to ride as Brightsun, and Lyra's back and ass were beginning to ache. She hoped that they would stop soon and rest, which seemed likely as everyone was getting rather itchy to take a break for some food. In the meantime, Lyra and the boys all played "Redder that a Heart Tree", a game Robb and Lyra invented as children to pass the time while traveling on horseback. During the game, the players examined the trees of the forest and tried to spot the reddest leaf, or the greenest depending on which season it was, and the player who spotted the most colorful leaf before reaching their destination wins.

"Look at that one! High up in the canopy of the trees! The red one!" Bran exclaimed excitedly. He'd just found the first red leaf, which changed up the game; since the game was called "Redder than a Heart Tree", the only way the older Starks could win the game now was to spot another, brighter red leaf.

"Good job Bran, now it's a _real_ game of 'Redder than a Heart Tree'," Jon smiled at his little brother. Though Father had a point about taking Bran to the execution, it had visibly gotten the boy disheartened, so the older Starks were trying to keep the atmosphere light and humorous.

"What's that up ahead?" Bran pointed to a brown, messy dead animal lying on the road up ahead past the bridge.

Dismounting in case wolves had been eating the carcass and had only briefly disappeared until the Stark party passed, Ned told everyone to stay behind him as he and Ser Roderick approached it. The carcass was that of a large buck with its entrails torn out.

 _Odd, the buck is missing an antler._ That was more typical of mountain lions, but mountain lions weren't known to live anywhere nearby; and this sort of behavior was not typical of wolves, which were known to live in these woods.

Dismounting and giving Summersnow's reigns to Jory, Lyra approached the carcass. "Look Uncle," Lyra said to Ned, pointing out a bloody trail that lead to a ravine below.

"Aye, lets take a look shall we?"

Ned made the children stay behind him and Roderick as they went down the ravine to see what kind of beast could have taken out such a large buck in this manner. Spotting a large mound of dirty grey-white fur not too far below, Ned picked up a rock and threw near the furry mound. The rock hit a large boulder and fell into the mud near the mound, but the furry mound stayed perfectly still. Drawing their swords in case something should come out as Ned and Roderick feared something could attack the children, the two men slowly descended the ravine followed by Theon and Robb, who also had their swords drawn.

Getting closer to the furry mound, the Starks all heard little mewling and whimperings of pups.

"It's a freak," Theon said incredulously.

"It's no freak," Ned responded, "it's a dire wolf." Taking the missing antler out of the dire wolf's throat, Robb heard Ned mutter _Tough old beast_ , to himself.

"A dire wolf?!" Lyra exclaimed excitedly as she pushed past Theon and Robb, both of them glaring at her unsheathed Night's Queen. She'd never seen a dire wolf before and it was the sigil of her house!

"Ugh, Lyra..." Robb chastised his future lady. She wasn't supposed to be here, let alone have her bloody sword with her.

All Starks sheathed their swords as they gathered around the mother's corpse to look at the pups. There weren't supposed to be dire wolves South of the Wall, but now there were five.

 _Wait!_ As Lyra watched the boys and Roderick come down the ravine, she spotted something pure black is the green foliage nearby. Pulling her gloves out of the bag at her waist, she pulled the the fur to reveal a small dire wolf, even for a pup, with pure black fur and grey eyes. _Curious, I thought it was impossible for wolves to have grey or blue eyes...maybe it's different for dire wolves though_ , she concluded.

"Now there are six dire wolves," Robb commented as he let an excited Bran hold one. The lad's eyes lit up as the cute, furry little creature tried to affectionately lick his face.

"Can we keep them?" Bran asked Father.

 _They won't_ _survive without their mother, they're only pups..._ Looking at his young son's happy little face at holding the little creature, and the other children's brightened eyes as they adoringly admired the cute little pups, Ned wanted the children to have whatever made them happy, just as any good father would; but he also didn't want to see their grief should they grow attached to the pups, only for them to die because their mother wasn't around. Ned was torn.

Jon and Lyra exchanged knowing glances, Ned was going to say "no" and have them killed. _We've seen enough grief today_ , Jon thought before he interjected.

"Lord stark, there are six pups, one for each Stark child. The dire wolf is the sigil of your house, you're the first to come across dire wolves South of The Wall in centuries; House Stark was meant to have them," Jon persuaded Father.

The air went tense for a moment as Ned let Jon's words sink in. Turning back into Lord Stark; "You'll feed them yourselves, train them yourselves, and if they die, you'll bury them yourselves," he told the children firmly before walking back up the ravine to the road where Jory and the guards were waiting with the horses.

 _Thank you_ , Lyra mouthed silently to Jon as she held the black pup in one arm while Robb handed her another with dark golden eyes and grey fur. Her and Jon were the last to leave, however, Jon was suddenly stopped. A look of curiosity spread across his maturing face as he pulled up a white ball of fur.

"The runt of the litter," Theon smirked. "That one's yours Snow," he mocked.

When they finally got back to Winterfell, it was almost time for supper. The stable boys helped the Stark children dismount their horses due to the dire wolves hindering them. Walking quickly into the girls' rooms to show them the pups, the Bran had already claimed the dire wolf Robb had first handed to him, and Jon went ahead and took the white albino, who he dubbed "Ghost"; but Robb and Lyra weren't picky so they let the girls and Rickon choose first.

Initially, neither Arya nor Sansa could choose, saying that they were all equally cute. However, the one with the black fur and grey eyes kept making his way back over to Lyra.

Robb scoffed, "I think he likes you. _You_ should have him," he said to Lyra.

Picking up the cute little male dire wolf, Lyra decided to name him "Shadow" due to his deep black fur.

Sansa picked out the smallest wolf with the prettiest grey fur and golden eyes calling her "Lady" due to her gentle, lady-like demeanor.

"She's a wolf, stupid, wolves can't be 'lady-like'," Arya told her older sister as she chose the remaining, rather feisty female with more ruffled fur and yellow eyes. Arya dubbed her wolf "Nymeria" because she admired the Rhoynish Queen of Dorne and because that was the other wolf Lyra carried and she was half Dornish.

Rickon chose the wolf with green eyes and russet fur. A rather rowdy dire wolf just like his owner.

"Time for supper," Septa Mordane interrupted them.

Robb and Lyra told the girls not to worry about the dire wolves as they'd sequester them somewhere in one of the empty rooms until they could find more suitable sleeping quarters for them. As the pair gathered the wolves into an empty room and found some old, dry blankets for them to sit on, Robb seemed a little pleased with himself as he fondly stroked the fur of his own wolf, who he'd named "Grey-Wind".

"Not picky my foot," Lyra teased her betrothed, laughing. She'd seen the way Robb looked at Grey-Wind, she could tell that he was hoping his sisters would go for the she-wolves and Lyra the black furred male.

"Oh? And you didn't want Shadow?" Robb teased back.

"Okay, okay. Truce?" Lyra hopped in front of him before turning the corner towards the Great Dinning Hall.

"Only if we can seal it with a kiss," he whispered in her ear, a mischievous smile plastered on his face.

"Why yes, _my lord._ " Lyra's face neared Robb's; "You're _lady_ , would be happy to kiss you."

Initially intending for the kiss to be brief, the young couple's kiss ended up lingering. Momentarily lost in their young lover's passion, they didn't notice that Septa Mordane had come back to get them.

" _My lord and lady!_ " the septa said indignantly as she caught them in the middle of what she saw was inappropriate.

Startled, Robb and Lyra quickly broke away as the septa chastised them for offending the Gods with their passion before they were even married.

Walking behind Septa Mordane irritably, both Rob and Lyra wondered if the woman would ever quit being a thorn in their sides.

* * *

**Sorry for the long winded story regarding the romance of Brandon Stark and Meria Martell, but it's important to the rest of the fic later on. Especially for a Cat and Meria interaction. Btw, I hope it wasn't too cheesy, but I felt like Brandon wouldn't break off his betrothal to Cat unless he fell madly in love with another woman. Plus, it gives us a good foundation for the Stark's and Martell's relationship in the story, and why everyone is in the position they're currently in.**

**Also, I hope that I'm developing Lyra's character well enough.**

**Btw, the locations where Ghost and Shadow were found in respect to their brothers and sisters are symbolic, which will become clear later on ;)**

**I'd also like to add that I know that their eyes shouldn't be open, but the are in the show, and this fic follows the show more than the books.**

**Next: _The Usurper's Court_**


	4. The Usurper's Court

**Author's note: Thank you Jan, Guest, and crystaltonics for your lovely reviews!**

**I'd also like to add that I'm aware that I've changed the characters' ages up a little, but I figured that these changes were within reason, given the fact that Meria and Brandon's marriage and Lyra's presence would naturally disrupt the original story enough to change them.**

**Anyways, enjoy ^.^**

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Usurper's Court**

_"Shadow! Shadow!"_ _Lyra shouted for her black furred wolf in the courtyard of Winterfell._

_Looking around her and not seeing the juvenile wolf, she called again; Shadow!_

_Hearing a bark, she turned towards the sound._

_"There you are handsome boy!"_

_She saw him watching her, almost expectantly, at the entrance to the crypts. However, as she began to walk towards him, the black wolf turned and ran into the crypts._

_"C'mon Shadow! Let's not play games", Lyra sighed irritably._ _After calling her wolf out twice, but to no avail, she decided to go in the crypts after him._

_Picking up a torch, the crypts were already lit as they usually were during the day, but it was still difficult to see sometimes without some source of light in hand. Traveling down the crypts, Lyra began to feel uneasy as a sense of dread washed over her._

_"Shadow!" Lyra called out harshly. She wanted to get out; the crypts were eerily quiet without the usual hustle and bustle of the Stark household outside to echo into the dark, damp cave-like structure._

_Hearing a bark, Lyra spotted her dire-wolf peering out from one of the crevices. She tried to beckon her wolf to her, but instead, he simply barked at her before trotting back into the alcove where a Stark lord was entombed. Groaning in irritation, Lyra picked up her skirts and quickly walked towards the alcove her stubborn dire-wolf was hiding in. However, upon arriving in front of the tomb, she didn't see the dire-wolf._

_"Shadow?" Lyra cautiously whispered; paralyzing fear causing her voice to strain._ _Walking closer to the tomb, Lyra held up the torch in her hand. Her blood went cold when she saw whose statue her beloved wolf was hiding behind: her father's._

_Staring at Brandon Stark's likeness, chills went down Lyra's spine. She didn't even notice Shadow come out of hiding until he pressed his cold nose against her left hand. Almost jumping out of her skin at the unexpected contact, Lyra admonished her wolf; "Shadow! Don't scare me like that!"_

_The wolf only starred at her, his sweet grey eyes innocent as he licked her hand in an attempt to calm his lady._

_Wait, his eyes aren't supposed to be grey anymore, they turned green like Shaggydog's once he became a juvenile; Lyra thought curiously to herself as she scratched Shadow behind his ear._

_Just then, a cold gust of wind suddenly blew in Lyra's face, followed by heavy, almost metallic breathing. Feeling her blood go cold, she didn't want to look its source: the statue in front of her; but she did anyway, much to her horror. Heart racing and breathing hard, Lyra dropped the torch to the ground as she saw the statue of Brandon Stark slowly come to life._

_"Lyra", Brandon said; his face cracking at the mouth as he spoke._

_As Lyra tried to back away, Brandon's arm shot out and grabbed her shoulder to keep her still. She could hear the dreadful cracking of stone as he did so._

_"Lyra! Listen to me! Winter is coming, and you must protect the pack! The stag comes surrounded by lions in the dragon's den. Things are not what them seem!"_

Shooting up, awake in bed, Lyra looked around the dark room lit by a couple of candles. The warmth of the candle light contrasting with the cold darkness of her dream. Looking around the room, she saw Shadow asleep at the foot of her bed.

 _It was just a dream_ , Lyra tried to calm herself; however, she failed to convince even herself that there was nothing to fear as thoughts of her father's warning invaded her mind for the rest of the night.

* * *

Spurring his horse faster so as to stay a head of the King's caravan, Jaime Lannister awoke from his thoughts about the previous night.

Last night, when the rest of the King's household was abed and asleep, Jaime and his twin, the Queen, had a rendezvous in the trees. Though traveling with a large party at a snails pace for over a month was not something Jaime enjoyed; he did enjoy the fact that traveling made it easier to be alone with his sister. Everyone was too busy with their own pre-occupations or business to bother with or care about where he and Cersei went.

Usually, after Jaime was relieved of duty for the night, he'd go to Cersei. The Queen, dismissing her handmaidens, would invite Jaime into her tent for wine, and usually, Tyrion would join them, having nothing better to do. As evening came, Tyrion would go back to his tent, usually too drunk to do so without assistance. Jaime would then take his little brother to his tent, making sure that Tyrion was safely in bed and asleep in a position so as he would not choke on his own vomit should his body feel the urge to empty his stomach of the wine. Afterwards, Jaime would grab more wine before returning to his sister's tent. Though the journey had many fallbacks, one was _not_ that the journey made it harder for Jaime and Cersei to have more time alone. The fact that King Robert preferred to stay in tents outdoors, instead of inside the holdfasts he and his household had been invited to stay in for the night, gave the twins adequate coverage for their "activities".

After Tyrion was in bed, Jaime would usually come back to his sister's tent to find her naked and waiting for him. Though they'd been doing this for many years now, Cersei's beauty still left Jaime without any wits. Having three children hadn't done his sister's body any favors, but she was still as elegant and beautiful in form as she was when she was when she was a newly crowned Queen at seventeen. In fact, she somehow looked better now than she did at seventeen; the curves and rounded breasts granted to her by age and carrying children, his children, had replaced the skinniness of her youth.

Drunkenly, Cersei would saunter over to her twin before passionately kissing him, her perfect brother. Dashingly handsome, golden hair falling just above his shoulders, and emerald green cat-like eyes. All just like her own.

After their foreplay, Cersei would put on her robe and tell Jaime to find an excuse to escort her to the woods. Usually, Jaime would tell Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the King's Guard, that his sister had some "personal business" to take care of in the woods and felt too embarrassed for anyone but her own brother to help her. Selmy and the rest of the men bought Jaime's story, and, just like the rest of the court, just assumed that the Queen and her twin brother were simply closer than any of them could imagine due to being twins.

It all worked like a charm, and Jaime and his sister would fuck in the woods without fear of interruption.

Thinking about their romps in the woods got Jaime aroused again, however, he pushed these thoughts aside. With the King and his court nearing Winterfell, Jaime needed to focus, so he put his helm back on and spurred his horse to the front of the caravan. He then found his thoughts drifting to the gossip about Lord Stark's niece, Lyra Stark.

The girl is in a strange position indeed, Jaime thought to himself.

A Stark raised in Sunspear, for the most part, who was under the protection of House Martell, was definitely something to gossip about indeed. Especially considering her relation to the late Targaryens. Jaime had heard that the future Lady of Winterfell tended to spurn tradition, and had even taken up martial skills at the young age of eight. Jaime had always thought that the North generally saw women the way his father often saw them; ladies who didn't belong anywhere near politics or swords, and should instead obey the head of their houses by making good marriage aliances and only set their hearts on marriage, running their husbands households and caring for his children. However, it seemed as though Lyra Stark had won over the Northern lords, given the fact that when they spoke of her unusual penchant for the martial pursuits and situation, they often talked about it as an interesting novelty rather than something to be scorned and discouraged.

Jaime had even heard that she'd won many archery contests both up North and in Dorne, in addition to being excellent and talented with a sword. This alone had piqued Jaime's curiosity about the Sun Wolf.

* * *

Cat was in a tizzy to say the least. The King's Court was originally due to not arrive on time, and the Lady of Winterfell was under the impression that she'd have another fortnight to prepare for the royal visit. As a result, Cat pushed the preparations to the back of her mind and she focused more on her duties to her husband and as mother to their children.

True, the mis-timming of the King and his court's arrival to Winterfell had allowed Cat a brief, but much needed, reprieve from the stress of the preparation; however, now she was beginning to regret it. The King and his court would now be arriving _today_ , three days earlier than she and the Stark household had expected. They'd just received a raven this morning to expect the King and his court's arrival just after midday.

Having very little time to prepare herself and the household for the royal visit, Cat had the servants get the children up early this morning so they could have ample time to bathe and get ready for the King.

Sansa, Cat's oldest daughter and best behaved of the children, got up immediately, excited for the King's arrival, to bathe and wash her auburn hair so she could look her best for the Prince. However, Arya and Lyra were different stories...Both girls were the most ornery of the Stark children. Arya was being a pain because she generally hated being forced into taking baths; and Lyra was not eager to get out of the warmth of her bed, saying that she'd had a hard time sleeping last night due to a nightmare.

As Sansa and Robb volunteered to take their baths first, Arya and Lyra broke their fasts with the other children in the Main Dinning Hall. After Sansa had finished, Cat and Septa Mordane both felt that Lyra should go next due to her thick, hip length hair taking so long to dry. When the servants came to fetch Lyra for her bath, she and Arya were nowhere to be found, much to Cat and Septa Mordane's horror.

Having Bran go next and little Rickon have his bath in the girls' tub (Cat figured that being only five years Rickon and the girls were unlikely to care about having to share the same bath water as long as it remained warm), Cat had the servants look all over the castle to find the two missing girls while she directed the preparations. However, neither girls were found to be anywhere in the castle. They'd even checked the Broken Tower to make sure they hadn't snuck off there.

Cat, having a feeling, went to the God's Wood to check there herself. Relieved and irritated all at once, she found Lyra, asleep against the Heart Tree, with Arya's head on her shoulder, fast asleep as well. Had it been any other time, Cat would have actually found this site to be quite sweet and cute; her youngest daughter had very few "ladies" for friends, and though Lyra constantly wanted to practice archery or spar with the boys, she _could_ be quite a gracious lady just like Sansa when she needed or wanted to be. It was nice for Cat to see Lyra get along with the hard-headed, boyish Arya and treat her with as much love and respect as Sansa usually got; however, they were pressed for time at the moment.

Shaking the girls awake, Lyra seemed sincere as she apologized profusely as they had intended to pray for a good royal visit, but she and Arya had accidentally fallen asleep. Cat, wanting to be angry with her niece for wasting her time, even if it was unintended, found herself unable to be angry with either girls; instead, she simply told Lyra that all was fine and that her dornish handmaiden, Ashara Dayne, named for her beautiful, tragic aunt, was waiting in the girls' sitting room, ready to help her wash her hair. She decided against telling the girls about Rickon having just bathed in the girls' bath as she didn't want to risk the potential headache of Arya arguing with her about having to share her _brother's_ bath water, which was something she didn't even like doing with Sansa.

As Lyra gently pulled Arya off of her so she could get up and _run_ for her bath, Cat stayed and woke a still sleeping Arya up all while reminding herself to ask a servant to bring Lyra some tea to help her wake up. _In fact, perhaps **all** of the children should have some more tea this morning_ , Cat thought as she was finding it difficult to get Arya to properly wake up.

* * *

Feeling guilty about making her Aunt Cat hunt her and Arya down in the God's Wood when she already had too much to do, Lyra picked up her skirts and ran to the sitting room she shared with the girls at Winterfell.

Lyra arrived to the sitting room with the big fireplace just as Rickon was leaving. The Five-year-old laughing as if he had just done something mischievous as he did so.

"Arya has to bathe in my bath water!" He said as Septa Mordane took the small child to his room to dress. Though little Rickon was barely five and had yet to understand the inappropriateness of doing so, he still found it funny since the girls, especially Arya, would get upset when he bathed in the same water as they. Ever the proper lady since she was two, Sansa, looking irritated that her youngest brother was bathing in the same room she was in, finally threw off the blanket that she had covering herself as she was only in her small clothes.

As Ashara dumped some of the bath water out and refilled the tub with hot water, Lyra began to undress. It had been over an hour since the tub was first filled with hot water, and thus, it needed to be refilled as the water had gone cold. Due to her blonde handmaiden's short, petite physique, she was having difficulty with the buckets and dumping their contents, so Lyra decided to help , in Dorne, servants did this, not handmaidens, but the North was different. Though Lyra liked to think of herself as being quite independent, she found it strange that her aunt Cat didn't have handmaidens; only servants whom did multiple different tasks around Winterfell. Although, Lyra supposed that Septa Mordane could somewhat be counted as a sort of handmaiden...

"Here, let me help. It will go faster, my friend," Lyra said as she helped Ashara pick up a bucket. Though Lyra was built more like the Martells, elegant and slim with a small breast, she was also stronger with, relatively, broad shoulders and good muscle tone due to her Stark heritage and martial training since she was eight.

"Thank you, my lady," Ashara said breathlessly as Lyra helped her with the buckets. Though the two dornish women were on a first name basis since they were fourteen and Lyra generally considered Ashara to be her best friend, Sansa was in the room with them, letting her damp auburn hair dry by the roaring fire; Sansa generally didn't approve of servants and handmaidens being on a first name basis with their ladies. She deemed it inappropriate and improper etiquette.

The two dornish women finally getting the water in the tub warm again, Lyra stripped off her small clothes and her corset before getting into the brass tub. The water was a bit hot, but as Lyra got used to it, she began to enjoy the heat as it helped the kinks in her muscles unwind and relax. Letting out a soft sigh as she dipped her hair in the water and relaxed her aching neck, Sansa finally spoke:

"I hear the Crown Prince is very handsome, _and_ he's only less than two years my senior," Sansa told her cousin dreamily.

Lyra could only roll her eyes as her cousin, soon to be good-sister, spoke dreamily about the Crown Prince. Lyra and Jon had spoken this morning while breaking their fasts with the other Stark children in the Great Dinning Hall, and apparently, Robb had heard that the Prince was a "right royal prick".

"Which dress do you plan to wear?" Lyra asked her daydreaming cousin. She was also bored and trying to make conversation as Ashara was busy adding vanilla scented oils and soap to suds up the water.

"Hmm..." Sansa thought for a moment. "I was thinking of my blue one to wear for the King's arrival, but I'm still not sure what to wear tonight at the feast," Sansa responded.

As Lyra scrubbed her face and body clean of grime, she listened to Sansa go over a mental inventory of the dresses she owned, which were many; Sansa was the most talented high born seamstress Lyra had ever seen! The soft blue dress Sansa was considering for the King's arrival made her Tully blue eyes and auburn hair striking, especially in daylight. Which Lyra figured was why her cousin was considering that particular dress in order to look pretty for the Crown Prince.

"How about your green one for the feast? The one you made like your mother's," Lyra suggested as Ashara poured water on her hair and wrung the soap along with the grime out over a basin. "I think the green one is quite pretty with your hair. I think your mother is wearing her green dress too." Lyra would never get over how similar Sansa was to Catelyn. Not only did mother and daughter look alike, but they also behaved alike and had the same tendencies.

"Maybe," Sansa said as she was being laced into her corset. "What do _you_ plan to wear?" She suddenly asked Lyra, who tried to quickly think of a good one before Sansa excitedly interjected; You should let _me_ dress you! Arya _never_ lets me dress her, and you have all of those beautiful dresses from Dorne that you never wear. Well, save for that grey and black one i suppose." Truth be told, Sansa loved her only cousin's exotic inventory of dresses and jewelry from a principality so far away, and she'd always wanted to borrow one. However, though Sansa and Lyra were the same height, Sansa wouldn't be able to wear one of Lyra's dresses without alterations; her cousin was a woman grown and thus, despite possessing the Martell slimness and small breast, actually had much curvier hips and a nipped in waist. When Sansa would fret over these differences, her cousin would assure her that she was only thirteen and had more growing to do. In fact, Lyra predicted that Sansa would be just as curvy as herself, if not, more so because Aunt Cat was of fuller breast than herself or her mother.

Looking at her younger, enthused cousin, Lyra remembered that aunt Cat had only asked for her help with keeping the children pre-occupied, clean, and out of trouble. This in mind, Lyra reluctantly agreed to let Sansa pick out a dress for her.

"What colors would you prefer?" Sansa asked Lyra.

"I don't know, you're the expert," Lyra answered with a small laugh. She was certain that whatever dress Sansa chose for her, it would look lovely, but she was afraid of it being too frilly. As Sansa left for Lyra's room, she shouted, "Just don't pick one that's too frilly!"

When Ashara finished with Lyra's hair, she got out of the tub and told a maid to go fetch Arya for her bath. Getting into a robe, Lyra sat on the opposite side of the sofa that Sansa was sitting on earlier and let her wet, hip length hair cascade down the arm so it could dry faster. The warmth of the fire making her drowsy, a maid then came in with black tea and Arya in tow. Hearing Arya complain about being the last person to use the bath, as she always did, Lyra reminded her about the bath oils she'd used earlier. The novelty of bathing in oils seemed to pacify Arya as the servant had an easier time getting the girl to sit still while she washed her hair.

Grateful for the warm tea as Lyra felt chilled from getting out of the hot bath, Sansa finally came back with a dress. Perking up from the tea, Lyra was pleasantly surprised at Sansa's choice; she'd chosen her silver-grey dress with long flowing sleeves and blue winter roses sewn onto the front, similar to the dress Sansa planned to wear for the King's arrival. She told her that she'd chosen her silver dire wolf ring, given to Lyra by her father, and her dire wolf pendant with the silver matching earrings. Sansa had also chosen for Lyra to wear the black cape with the grey fox sewn onto the shoulders.

When Arya, finished with her bath, the youngest girl joined the two older girls for tea. All three of them perking up from the stimulating black tea, they began chatting away about everything from archery to the Crown Prince. Sansa and Arya having their hair being braided in the Northern style, Lyra was being laced into her corset and dressed. When Ashara left to go retrieve the jewelry Sansa had placed for Lyra to wear in her room and to bring back pins and hair ties so that she could help Lyra style her hair, Sansa spoke dreamily again about the Prince. Arya and Lyra rolled their eyes as the auburn haired girl spoke; they both figured that Sansa was hoping for a potential betrothal to the Prince considering the way Sansa spoke of him and the fact that the King was riding all the way North to ask Ned to be his Hand.

_Seven Hells_

* * *

Finally arriving to the fortress of a castle that was Winterfell, Jaime was ahead of the King's caravan in case they should be so fortunate as to run into bandits; he'd at least be able to fight _someone_. He was more than happy to dismount from his horse as he waited for Robert with everyone else as his lower back was beginning to bother him from riding for so long in his heavy armor.

King Robert finally arriving, the entire Stark household kneeled with, who Jaime believed to be, Lord Eddard Stark. The King and Warden of the North being foster brothers, Robert motioned his foster brother to rise as soon as he approached him. Finally able to take his helmet off, Jaime went to stand next to Cersei as she got out of the carriage with Myrcella and Tommen. Watching the formalities as Robert examined the Stark children, Jaime suddenly felt a cold shiver go down his spine as the King got to the black haired girl wearing a silvery-grey dress standing between Lord stark's heir and his eldest daughter.

_Lady Lyra Stark..._

Jaime hadn't seen the girl since she was four, visiting her cousin Rhaenys and her aunt, Princess Ellia, at the capitol. Locking eyes with Lyra Stark, it was as if a ghost from his past had come back to haunt him; though she looked much like her mother, he couldn't help but to think that if he'd been able to save Princess Rhaenys, she and Lyra would have grown to look quite similar. However, as much as her warm doe eyes reminded him of Rhaenys and Ellia, the princesses he'd failed to save, looking at the girl's more Stark-like face, Jaime was also reminded of how he'd been forced to watch her father strangle himself to death while attempting to save his father, Rickard Stark, from being burned alive. Trying to push these awful memories out of his mind, Jaime could still smell Lord Rickard's roasting flesh and the awful sound Brandon's neck made when it finally broke.

Noticing the two staring at each other in recognition, Cersei gave her twin a curious look before her attention was rudely averted to Robert's wish to visit the dead girl's crypt.

"We've been riding for over a month, my love," Cersei did her best to sound the part of Robert's loving queen. "The dead can wait." As if Cersei's pride wasn't already wounded enough, Robert said nothing to her as he rudely turned his back and forced Lord Stark, who to his credit, gave Cersei a sympathetic look before he was forced to lead the King to Lyanna Stark's crypt.

Embarrassed that she had been ignored and left to wait out in the cold by her own husband, Cersei tried to wait patiently, while also trying to stop the sour look creeping onto her face. That is, until she heard the youngest Stark girl wonder allowed as to where "the Imp" was.

Cersei, not liking the way her twin and Lyra Stark were looking at one another, ordered Jaime to go find the little beast. She saw Jaime, to his credit, look relieved to have a task and get away from the awkward situation that had ensued after Robert and Ned went to the crypts.

Taking a moment to figure out where his little brother could be, Jaime figured he'd gone to the brothel in the village just outside of the Castle Winterfell. Leaving his helm with his squire, Jaime set off on the short walk to the local village whorehouse. As he walked, the only thing he could think about was Lyra Stark, and the things he found himself thinking about were things he knew would only enrage Cersei or make her jealous. Though Jaime had heard much of the Starks in general on his way North (the Starks were apparently well beloved by their own people), he was particularly curious about Lyra Stark, the future Lady Stark of Winterfell, as was the rest of the North. The girl was much of an enigma, even to her own future subjects.

_The Sun Wolf..._

Normally, nicknames were _given_ to the Starks, and even then, it was usually only the men who'd received nicknames. Jaime found it odd that Lyra Stark saw herself as a Stark and desperately wanted to reclaim the seat she felt was rightfully hers, yet she seemed more dornish and Martell to him with her loose and wild thick hair, warm passionate eyes and penchant for war and battle. At least, that was the gossip among the Stark vessels and small folk.

* * *

 _How fucking rude can you be?!_ Lyra angrily thought to herself while she waited, seemingly patiently, with everyone else out in the court yard. Looking over at the Queen after she ordered her twin to retrieve their youngest brother, Tyrion Lannister, or more infamously known as "the Imp", she and Lyra then exchanged glances. Though Lyra didn't care for King Robert, viewing him more as a usurper than a King, he was still, by law, _Lyra's King_ and her uncle's best friend, so she was doing her best to behave pleasantly and hold her tongue. Returning the Queen's glance with a small smile and nod in respectful acknowledgement, despite Lyra's hatred for Robert, Lyra couldn't help but to feel sorry for the Queen about the way her husband treated her. No wife deserved to be so coldly ignored by her own husband, especially one who seemed as graceful as Cersei; however, Lyra couldn't help but to notice the curious look on her queen's face.

 _Is she angry with me?_ Lyra wondered; looking at the strange expression on the Queen's face. _Is it because of my relationship with my late aunt and cousins?_ Lyra did remember hearing once that the Queen and her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, were hoping for a betrothal to Prince Rhaegar, and that they'd felt slighted when the Mad King had refused. However, Lyra and everyone else's attention was averted when Ned and the King finally re-emerged from the crypts.

After everyone was ordered inside, the Stark children did their duties to their parents' guests. Aunt Cat escorted the King inside the castle, while Ned escorted the Queen. Normally, Robb would have escorted Lyra as she was his betrothed, but this time, he escorted Princess Myrcella, who looked quite smitten with Robb, and Sansa did the same with Prince Joffrey; much to Robb's chagrin. As Arya begrudgingly escorted Prince Tommen, Lyra realized that she was the only lady in the court yard to not have an escort! Feeling embarrassment heat her cheeks, Lyra suddenly felt a little tug on the sleeve of her dress. Looking down, she saw that the person tugging at her sleeve was wild little Rickon.

"I'll escort _you_ Lyra!" The youngest Stark declared excitedly.

Leaning down so she could take the little boy's arm, Lyra thought he was adorable; "Why thank you Lord Rickon! I'd be happy to have such a handsome, fierce young man escort me," Lyra said in the voice of a damsel in distresse who was just being saved by her noble knight. Little Rickon, being the youngest, and thus, often forgotten by everyone, loved it when the girls, especially Sansa and Lyra, treated him as if he were grown and a noble lord.

"Hey! That was my plan. I wanted to escort Lyra!" Bran suddenly said; coming up to Lyra's other side.

"Well! This is a rarity; to have two dashing young men escort me! I'd be honored if both of you would escort me to the Great Hall," Lyra declared rather grandly. She loved playing with the little children, they were so much fun to tease and pretend with.

Watching as the last lady was escorted by Bran and Rickon, Theon's plan went with them; he, himself, was planning to escort Lyra. It seemed that Jon did too considering that the noble bastard had the same look on his face. Spotting Ashara Dayne, who was waiting to file in with the rest of the handmaidens, Theon strode over to her and asked if she'd like to take his arm. The pretty dornish handmaiden gave him an obliging smile before taking his arm.

"I've got my lady, where's yours?" Theon teased a lone Jon Snow as he passed him. At the mention of Ashara being called a "lady", the blonde flashed the handsome Theon as pretty smile before blushing and looking ahead as they entered the castle.

* * *

As Jaime walked passed a horse in the village of Winterfell, he suddenly heard cries of ecstasy from a structure that was just ahead of him. Figuring that Tyrion was likely in the brothel, he set off towards his brother.

Jaime's suspicions were confirmed when the owner of the brothel refused to either confirm or deny Tyrion's patronage. Though Jaime found it funny that Tyrion was spurning his required presence during the King and the court's arrival to the castle, Cersei had noticed the looks Lyra and himself were exchanging; thus, Jaime knew that Cersei wasn't going to tolerate it if he couldn't get Tyrion out of the brothel in time for the feast.

Running out of patience, Jaime needed to speak with Tyrion, and the brothel owner wasn't telling him where his brother was. Much to Jaime's chagrin, he had to buy the rest of the whores for his brother before being allowed to see him.

Finally being led to a room with a door so short, Jaime had to duck in order to get through its frame. The rest of the whores waiting outside for his signal.

Catching a red-headed whore already beginning to fuck Tyrion, Jaime told her not to get up; he didn't want to interrupt, and he didn't care to see his grown brother's cock either. Irritated, Tyrion asked Jaime if he knew the meaning of a closed door in a whore house; which Jaime had no doubt his little brother needed to teach him the etiquette of behavior in brothels. Closing the door behind him, Jaime told Tyrion as much before pouring himself some horrible tasting but wonderfully numbing ale.

Trying to persuade his little brother to come to the castle immediately, it didn't take long for Jaime to realize that Tyrion was digging his heels in about fucking every whore in Winterfell before they left. Relenting, Jaime simply told Tyrion that Cersei "craved his attention", meaning that their sister was finding his absence to be rude, and to be at the castle for the feast by sundown.

"Don't leave me alone with these people," Jaime tried not to sound as if he were begging Tyrion.

Tyrion though, hearing the beg in his brother's voice, looked at him more carefully before speaking; "What is brother? You look as if you've seen a ghost, and a rather beautiful one at that judging by the slight redness you're currently trying to stop from creeping onto your face." Pushing Roz off so he could speak with his brother, Tyrion jokingly added, "Tell me, the ghost you're pre-occupied with, is she a blonde or a brunette?"

Feeling the ale lower his inhibitions, Jaime responded; "Lady Lyra Stark is among the Starks as well." Jaime couldn't decide whether he was happy or terrified to see the future Lady of Winterfell in all of her dornish glory.

"Brandon Stark and Meria Martell's only child? Makes sense that she's here," Tyrion mused. "She _is_ going to marry Robb Stark in only a matter of months after all," he added. "Why? are you afraid of a girl?" Tyrion half jokingly asked.

"Fear is the wrong word," Jaime responded, though he isn't sure which one was. He supposed he was afraid of seeing Lyra Stark, but her presence and the rumors he'd heard had also piqued his curiosity; which he was certain was going to force him to endure an earful from Cersei later. His twin had most definitely been displeased at the long gaze he'd held with Lyra Stark earlier. Changing the subject, Jaime went to the door to get the rest of the girls. As all five of the unbooked whores filed in excitedly, Jaime smiled, telling Tyrion that those five "tumbles" were on him.

"See you at sundown," Jaime laughed as he left.

"Close the door!" A muffled voice said at Jaime's back

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter was boring, but it's mostly meant as a set up for the next. Btw, I know that wolves don't have blue or grey eyes when they're four to six weeks old; if they do, then they change by this time, which is why Shadow now has green eyes instead of grey.**

**Next: The Feating of King Robert, a small lemon, and Lyra and Jaime finally interact.**


	5. The Feast of Fools

**Hello all! I'd like to start by thanking everyone for their awesome reviews! You all are wonderful! I think I like my re-write more than the original story, but I'll keep writing for that storyline as well. Sorry if I characterize Lyra as being so angry, she actually isn't; but being surrounded by the Usurpers and the people whom she believes are responsible for her relatives' deaths is constantly testing her anger. Lyra is mostly a happy person who's trying to make the best of her circumstances, but she IS more Martell than Stark and she DOES possess the Martell passion and temper.**

**Enjoy ^.^**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Feast of Fools**

After being led into the Great Hall by her two handsome "heroes", little Bran and Rickon, Lyra waited patiently for all of the pomp; the formalities and catching up Lord Stark and the "Usurper", King Robert, had to do. Standing at the side next to Robb, where she was usually required to be during formal occasions, Lyra began to let her mind drift.

 _Ser Jaime Lannister, I wonder why he was staring at me_ , Lyra wondered to herself. After giving the matter much thought and the curious look his twin, the Queen, had given her afterwards, Lyra settled that the reason why Jaime Lannister had been interested in her was due to her relation to her late aunt, Princess Elia Martell. _Seven Hells! The man looked at me as if he'd seen a ghost. As he should!_ Lyra thought angrily. _If he feels guilty or ashamed at seeing me, then he should!_ The man failed in his duty to protect Lyra's beloved aunt and cousins as his father sacked King's Landing. What's worse was that the man was too busy King slaying to do so.

As Lyra silently fumed to herself about Jaime Lannister's grave failures as a King's Guard, Aunt Cat came walking towards her with her sweet, magnanimous "Lady Stark" smile.

"Lady Lyra," Lady Stark said to Lyra gently, "now would be a good time to practice being the future Lady Stark. Would you like to take the Princess to her chambers as I am taking the King and Queen to theirs?"

Though Lady Stark had posed it as a question, Lyra knew it wasn't a question; it was a veiled command.

Putting on her own, "Lady Stark smile", which she had practiced many times and perfected years ago, Lyra excused herself from Robb with a well practiced curtsey and glided over to an excited Princess Myrcella.

 _Gods be good these formalities are annoying_ , Lyra thought to as the Royal visit required everyone in the Stark household to take the necessary extra steps to be formal towards each other as well as the Royal household.

"My princess," Lyra gracefully curtseyed to Myrcella. "Would you give me the honor of showing you to the chambers you will have during your stay here in Winterfell?" Lyra asked in the sweetest voice she could. Normally, it would have been effortless for Lyra to be sweet and kind to the seemingly cute and sweet girl standing before her; but as of this moment, Lyra's mood was still soured by the Kingslayer's presence and the horrible memories that came flooding back.

_Aunt Elly, Baby Aegon, Rhaenys…you deserved better…_

Taking the Princess's arm in the same lady-like and friendly manner Lady Stark was doing with the Queen, Lyra led Myrcella as they walked behind Cat and Cersei. Princess Myrcella looked afraid and nervous as she looked around the fortress of a castle she was currently in. Lyra figured that she probably wasn't used to the harsh and cold fortress-like structure of castles that were so common in the North. She supposed that compared to the elegant and inviting structures down south, the North could be quite frightening to an outsider. Lyra herself was even initially afraid of her own father's home during her first six-month visit after the Rebellion.

"Did you have a safe journey your grace?" Lyra asked the young girl currently trying, but failing, not to cling to her.

"Yes Lady Lyra, the North is quite an interesting place!" Cersei's little girl responded.

Lyra gave a small laugh and smiled; "I bet it pales in comparison to the brightness and loveliness in King's landing."

"Yes," Princess Myrcella admitted bashfully. "But the North has its own unique charms!" She added good-naturedly. "I've never seen snow before! And the North is full of such white, powdery beauty. My little brother, Tommen, and I loved seeing the beautiful white rabbits that are common in your homeland."

Lyra smiled and told the princess that she was glad that she could find such charm and beauty in her homeland despite coming from such an exciting place as the South. However, Lyra's cordial conversation with the princess, which had begun to turn rather pleasant, was then rudely interrupted.

 _Your homeland?_ The Queen suddenly said with a laugh as she abruptly stopped ahead of Myrcella and Lyra.

"Lady Lyra," Cersei began, gently forcing Lady Stark to turn around and face the young girls behind them. "One's homeland is generally the place you spend most of your time growing up in. From what I hear, you've only spent six months in the North every year since you were eleven. Wouldn't that make Sunspear your homeland?" The Queen asked with a slightly mocking laugh.

Looking at the questioning, slight smug-looking smile the Queen was currently savoring, Lyra couldn't figure out if she was teasing her or if it were a legitimate question. Seeing the smile slightly falter on Lady Stark's face, Lyra supposed that it was the former: the Queen was attempting to embarrass her.

Trying not to let her magnanimous demeanor falter and let the Queen's abrupt rudeness spoil things for Lord and Lady Stark, Lyra answered with an obliging smile; "I suppose you're correct your grace. Sunspear _is_ the place I've spent most of my time growing up, so by that definition, it is my homeland. However, I _was_ born here in Winterfell and lived here until I was four with my mother and father. Though, I suppose that I prefer to call the North my homeland instead because I was born here like my father before me, and also due to the fact that I am to be the future Lady of Winterfell once I marry Lord Robb," Lyra finished, trying to remain respectful as she attempted to turn the Queen's slight around into a chance to show how loyal and gracious she was towards the circumstances Robert's Rebellion had thrown her in to.

Seeing the Queen's little smug smile disappear and now replaced with her more Queen-like smile of dignity, Lyra figured that her words must have please Cersei. Her small fight with Cersei won, Lyra concluded; "I like to think of myself more as a part of the North since this is where my future is to be."

The Queen, satisfied with Lyra's answer, recovered with a gentle smile before telling Lyra that she must have quite a talent for immersing herself into cultures. She then allowed Lady Stark to lead her to her and the King's chambers. At this, Lyra continued walking with Myrcella, diverting their conversation on the flora and fauna unique to the North, and took the princess to the chambers she'd be staying in.

Walking into the rather cold room, Lyra immediately apologized for the chill and draft before telling Myrcella that she'd have the servants build a fire for her right away.

Opening the window to let some sunlight in, Lyra added; "Since you like snow so much, you'll be happy to know that you'll have a beautiful view of the snow covered forests during your stay." At this, the beautiful blonde little girl smiled excitedly before climbing up to see over the ledge. Gasping excitedly at the stunning scene of the untouched snowy view before her, the princess thanked Lyra for such a room with a view of the charms of the North.

As the King's servants began to bring in the princess's various trunks and trappings from King's Landing, Lyra excused herself. Curtseying to Myrcella, Lyra told her that she'd return later that evening before the feast to see how she was settling in before she backed out of the room.

 _Just who in the Seven Hells does that bitch think she is?!_ Lyra thought furiously as she began walking back to the Great Hall. _Oh, that's right; she's the Queen._ She rolled her eyes at Cersei Lannister's _exemplary_ queen-like behavior, and couldn't help but to think about how her late aunt, Princess Elia, would have been a much more gracious queen.

* * *

Dismounting from their horses, Lyra was thankful that Robb had agreed to go with her on a short, but much needed ride out into the forests before the feast. Aunt Cat had only told them to be back in time to get ready for the feast when they asked to go riding after the Royal household decided to lie in for a much needed rest before tonight's festivities.

As Lyra admired the beautiful clearing she and Robb always went to when they wanted to be alone, she vaguely hoped that Myrcella couldn't see them from the window in the room she'd given her earlier. Smiling at how ridiculously paranoid she was being, she shook these thoughts off.

"Mother told me that the Queen had been quite rude to you earlier; implying that your home was not the North," Robb suddenly spoke up after securing their horses.

 _Ah, now everything makes sense_ , Lyra thought as Robb took her hand and they lay down together in the freshly fallen snow. She had been wondering why Cat hadn't put up much of a fight at all when Robb and Lyra asked to go out on a short ride while the younger children watched the boys spar. Normally, Robb would have sparred with the Crown Prince, but seeing as the future Lord of Winterfell was much older, his mother and father thought it would be unfair and a bad idea for him to participate. The King, on the other hand, thought it would be a good idea for Prince Joffrey to "spar with an actual man for once."

Leaning over to stroke Robb's smooth face, Lyra was embarrassed that Cat had told her betrothed about the "incident". To which, Robb told her not to be because his mother thought she'd handled herself quite well. Apparently, Aunt Cat was surprised at the Queen's rudeness, but not terribly surprised; Cersei Lannister had a reputation of coming across as rude instead of the smart pragmatism that her father, Lord Tywin, possessed when she asked her subjects personal questions.

Wanting to change the subject and forget about the whole incident, Lyra took off her gloves so she may feel Robb's freshly shaven face. She still couldn't believe how different he looked with smooth skin instead of his usual facial hair! And if Lyra was completely honest with herself, she thought Robb to be even more handsome with a smooth face.

Enjoying the feel of his betrothed's soft, warm hands stroking his cool skin, he told her that if she liked, he could shave everyday. Smiling at the offer, Lyra did something she knew that most people, especially Theon, would find sicken adorable; she rubbed her soft face against Robb's before kissing him softly.

"Though I like the softness of your face without your hair, I think you're dashingly handsome either way," she laughed, lying lazily on top of him.

Looking at Robb, Lyra saw that he was grinning at her. Feeling uncomfortable with this, she asked him, "What are you smiling about?"

Leaning over and pulling her to the ground with him, he then gently grabbed Lyra's face before pulled her towards his. Robb kissed her. Surprised but excited by this, she ran her hands over his chest, eliciting a moan from him of what she now knew was sexual pleasure. Pulling her on top of him, they continued to kiss more passionately. Robb was clearly more experienced than Lyra, which made her wonder if he was going to brothels with Theon when she wasn't around; but she did her best to keep up. Lyra must have been doing well in returning the pleasure because she suddenly felt something hard press into her crotch. This made her even more excited, and she felt hot liquid gush from between her legs. Moaning at the pleasurable sensation of her lower belly heat, she moved her legs a little, trying to get friction where she needed it most. Feeling her do this as they were kissing, Robb grabbed her hips and gently forced her legs to spread a bit before he began to slowly and gently dry hump her. After she involuntarily let a moan escape her lips, he picked up his pace and ground into her a little harder.

 _Gods this feels amazing!_ Was all Lyra could think as lust clouded her mind. She began meeting his pace and they were then vigorously grinding against one another.

After a particularly loud moan, Robb then pulled her skirts up and began to rub her most private spot.

"Oh my Gods," was all he could say as he felt her hot wet cunt. He then began teasing her entrance a little by gently gliding his ungloved fingers along her wet slit. Continuing to massage her entrance with his index finger, he elicited another loud moan from his betrothed.

"Please," Lyra panted in ecstasy, "don't stop!"

Grinning, Robb had an idea; it was FAR too intimate, especially since they were yet to be married. However, being betrothed and their wedding set to be only in a matter of a couple of months, he supposed that was all close enough to take some "liberties" with Lyra. Turning his lady over onto her back, Robb began to move her skirts up.

Lyra gasped, "Robb! What-," she had been effectively silenced when he began to rub her sensitive, virgin nub. Gently tweaking it between his fingers. Robb felt his trousers tighten even more when she unconsciously arched her back with pleasure. Pulling his fingers out from her slit, Robb looked at them. They were so slick with Lyra's virgin juices. He then vaguely remembered Theon telling him how virgins get excited and quite wet very easily. Robb so desperately wanted to enter her, but his honor kept him back, so he decided to settle for then next best thing.

Lyra gasped in shock and horror when he put his face between her legs. Gasping for breath, she asked him, "Robb, what are you-that's-that's where gross things come out of me!"

To calm Lyra, Robb put his hand on her belly and gently pushed her back down into the snow. "Shhhh," he whispered, "relax, I promise you'll like it".

With that reassurance, Lyra lied back down nervously. When Robb ran his tongue over her most sensitive nub, she carded her fingers through his thick, auburn hair and cried out in pleasure. Meanwhile, Robb was too busy eating out his future lady wife to notice her slightly pulling his hair. His head was being clouded with desire as she let moans of pleasure escape her mouth. Robb had heard from many men that Dornish women tasted particularly good; they tended to taste sweeter due to their diets mostly consisting of fruits. To his delight, he found this to be very true with Lyra, and he was more than happy to lap away at the sweetness flowing freely from her small sex.

"Oh! Robb! Please-please don't stop", he heard Lyra gasp out.

That did it for him; he couldn't handle it any longer. Taking his other glove off, he began to rub his own cock, moaning into Lyra's pussy as he did so. The vibrations of his moans into her sex gave her a strange but intensely pleasurable feeling low in her belly. Lyra, being used to pleasuring herself alone, found Robb pleasuring her to be quite foreign and she was afraid of it, yet she also didn't want it to stop. As the wonderful pressure built stronger and stronger, Lyra felt that she could no longer take the feeling; the pressure in her lower body was about to be released whether she liked it or not.

"Robb, I-ahhh!" Lyra's vision went black and she felt the dizzying heady sensation. She barely heard Rob cum due to the ringing in her ears, but she felt a little of it splash onto her legs.

The two of them, totally spent and basking in the afterglow, could only lie in the snow. Lyra's skirts still disheveled and a little hiked up and Robb's breeches unlaced, the two lay in the snow. Lyra, pulling her skirts back down due to the cold, snuggled up to Robb; both for warmth _and_ because she realized that he had just given her the first orgasm she'd ever had with a man, even if it didn't even count as actual sex. Robb wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her shiny, wonderful smelling dark hair while she laid her head on his chest. Despite the layers of clothes Robb was wearing, Lyra could still hear his heart slow.

The two lovers felt so affectionate towards each other at that moment in their clearing, basking in their afterglow. Unfortunately though, the sun was beginning to set, which meant they needed to ride back and get ready to feast the King.

Getting up first, Robb offered his hand and helped Lyra up. "I suppose we should be heading back," he said with disappointment seeping into his voice.

"I suppose we should," Lyra admitted, albeit, disappointed as well. They were having such a wonderful moment, but it was time to go back to the reality of the Usurper and his court, as well as the Stark's duties to their royal guests.

* * *

Lyra and Robb rode back just in time as a servant told them that Lady Stark wanted them to get changed right away. As the stable boy took Robb's and Lyra's horses, the betrothed Stark's exchanged sheepish glances, thinking of what had transpired only less than an hour ago. Giving Robb a peck, Lyra told him that she'd see him at the feast before she quickly walked to her chambers to get ready. Lyra felt so giddy with happiness, she felt herself almost skipping to her room.

Changing out of the dress she'd worn this morning for the King's arrival, Lyra changed into the one that Sansa had chosen for her to wear for the feast. First, putting on the cream colored under-dress with the tight, long sleeves and winter roses embroidered at the hem, Lyra was able to do this herself; however, she needed help putting on the outer dress. The dress had been commissioned in Dorne, which was why, instead of a high neckline like the Northern dresses, this dress had a lower, and slightly off the shoulder neckline. Ashara had to help Lyra put on the outer light blue dress, which was split down the middle to show off the intricate hem of the inner dress, but bore grey wolf fur for sleeves starting at her elbows and ending at her wrists for warmth. After a few minutes and some help, Lyra was finally dressed and put her jewelry back on, which she'd taken off earlier so as it would not hinder her dressing.

"How would you like your hair styled, Lyra?" Ashara suddenly awoke Lyra from her thoughts about her and Robb's earlier encounter in the woods.

Trying to stop the blush from creeping onto her face, Lyra told Ashara that she didn't want her hair styled. Instead, she wanted to leave it down and wild as she had for the King's arrival. However, Lady Stark suddenly came in with a disapproving look at Lyra's un-styled hair.

"The arrival I could excuse, Lyra; but the feast I cannot. You need to style your hair," Catelyn sharply reprimanded her niece. Seeing that Lyra was about to argue, Lady Stark dismissed Ashara and told her to ready herself for the feast before she herself sat behind Lyra to style her hair.

"You have such thick, pretty hair my girl. Why do you never want it styled?" Aunt Cat asked Lyra.

"I don't like the way the pins and ties feel," Lyra admitted. Though this was quite true, Lyra mostly avoided styling her hair because she despised the Northern styles.

"Well, as Lady Stark and hostess of tonight's feast, I cannot allow the future Lady of Winterfell to go without styled hair. T'would be inappropriate especially in front of the King's court," Aunt Cat said as she played with Lyra's hair. Seemingly trying to decide how to style it. The Queen was quite critical of the seemingly lax ways the North let ladies dress and style themselves, and Cat didn't want another incident between Lyra and Cersei like the one that had happened earlier in the day. Cat knew her niece well, especially her temper, and she was afraid that Lyra may drink too much during the feast and snap something to the Queen that she'd regret later.

After much arguing and suggestions back and forth between the two women, Aunt Cat finally said; "Lyra, pick a style or I'll do it for you." Though Catelyn would rather not treat her grown niece like a child as she had to with Arya on these matters, sometimes she had to in order to get anything accomplished.

Lyra briefly mulled her aunt's words over before requesting her hair be styled in the same way as her own Riverlands style she'd made popular among the older ladies of the North. This seemed to pacify Aunt Cat who said that she'd style her niece's hair herself since the half-up hairstyle was so simple.

"You did very well today with the Queen," Cat told Lyra as she used the silver rose pin to keep Lyra's dark strands back. "Your answer to her rather rude question seemed to please her considering that she didn't press further and simply continued as if the incident had never even occurred," Cat continued before finishing Lyra's hair by pulling a few of her slightly waved strands out to frame her face.

"See there," Cat smiled at her work. "Very lovely and very little effort." She lightly shook Lyra's shoulders as Lyra gave a small laugh in agreement at how ridiculous she'd been about her hair earlier.

Leaving her niece's room so Lyra could finish pulling her stockings and boots on for the feast, Lady Catelyn felt satisfied that she had covered all of the things with Lyra that could potentially cause a problem with Queen Cersei. King Robert didn't seem to mind Lyra's quirks and habits of bucking the lady-like behavior that was expected of Lyra's high noble status, which seemed to irritate the Queen further. Robert's earlier comment about seeing Lyra's sword as she left to go riding with Robb in addition to his hearing of her penchant for the more masculine pursuits reminded his grace of Ned's dead sister, Lyanna Stark. Upon mentioning Cat's dead good sister again and comparing her personality to Lyra's, she worried when she saw the Queen's face visibly drop from enjoyment of watching the children get along to quiet rage; the Queen already seemed to dislike Lyra for many petty reasons, which Ned's best friend was only making matters worse. Feeling the fear of a possible, nasty public argument fueled by the copious amounts of wine ensuing during the feast between Cersei and Lyra, Catelyn went back over all of the possible things Lyra might do or wear that could provoke such a fight. Mentally checking everything again, Lady Catelyn stopped in her tracks as she realized that she'd forgotten to forbid Lyra of one small, but very important thing.

Racing back to her niece's room as lady-like as she could, Catelyn burst through the door. Seeing Lyra with a thin brush and container of black colored cream from Dorne, Catelyn firmly told her; "No dornish eyeliner, and _absolutely_ no sword or _any_ weaponry is to be on your person during this feast, Lyra."

Lyra and Aunt Cat stared each other down for a moment. They were growing more and more irritated with each other by the minute during the Usurper's visit. Seeing as Aunt Cat would not be compromising with her tonight because the feast was too important to House Stark's image, Lyra sighed irritably before throwing the brush down.

"Fine," she muttered angrily before handing over her kohl liner and brush to Aunt Cat, who promptly shut them away in a drawer. Then, seeing as Lyra was now fully dressed, Catelyn made her niece accompany her to the Great Dinning Hall in order to keep her out of trouble.

* * *

Though the King was late, thus making everyone wait for a bit before his or her hungry bellies could be satisfied, Lady Stark felt that the feast was going rather well. She also decided that her hesitant decision to allow the older children a cup of wine before the feast began had been a good idea as this seemed to have kept Lyra's growing irritancy towards the King and Queen to a minimum. In fact, Catelyn was quite pleased with Lyra's cordial behavior towards the King, and especially, the Queen. Lyra even took the initiative and greeted the King and Queen at the high table to formally introduce herself with Robb as the future Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Sansa, however, had been visibly nervous and shy about approaching the Queen since she now knew that the King wanted to betroth her to Prince Joffery; however, Lyra's offer to accompany her to the high table where the Queen and Lady Stark were sitting, observing, made the shy Sansa less nerve racked. Though when Cersei abruptly asked Sansa whether she'd bled yet, Catelyn thought everything she'd done and told Lyra about appeasing the Queen would be undone. Much to Lady Catelyn's relief though, Lyra didn't even flinch at the rudeness; instead, when Sansa answered that she had not bled yet, Lyra helped her stunned cousin recover by politely interjecting. Lyra added that though Sansa was still growing, her growth had slowed considerably, thus she'd likely reach womanhood soon.

Indeed, the feast was going well, and everyone was having a good time, that is, until the evening progressed into the later hours and everyone had more to drink…

Lady Stark had been quite pleased with Arya's good behavior, and Lyra had managed to, she assumed, bribe the girl into dancing with Prince Tommen. This seemed to please Cersei, who thankfully, hadn't witnessed Lyra bribe Arya into doing so. The Queen looked happy as she saw her children were being catered to and accepted as betters by the Stark children. Lady Stark saw that Cersei was especially pleased when Lyra asked Prince Joffrey for a dance, saying that she'd heard he was quite light on his feet and that it'd be an honor as the future Lady Stark if she could have a dance with her future king. Indeed, Cersei even savored a smug smile as Lyra swallowed her pride and did her best to go out of her way to please the Queen. Lady Stark felt relief wash over her at this however; this relief was soon spoiled when Arya suddenly decided to throw her food at Sansa and Jeyne Poole.

Lady Stark, closed her eyes, irritated, before opening them back up to see Robb laughing. Upon seeing his mother's disapproving glare from the high table, Robb quickly forced his smile to fall as she glanced over at Arya, indicating that she wanted him to take his rowdy little sister and put her to bed.

As Robb picked up a rather hyperactive Arya from the table, Lyra, just having curtseyed to the Crown Prince to thank him for the honor of a dance, decided to join him as he walked to take his youngest sister to bed for the night. Though it sounded counter-intuitive, Arya tended to get into trouble more than usual and act out when she was tired.

"But I'm not sleepy!" Arya protested while trying to muffle a yawn.

"Yes you are though," Robb told her as he walked with the two girls to Arya's room.

Lyra opened the door to Arya's room as Robb walked in with his sister. Septa Mordane then came in as well and told them that she'd put Arya to bed while the two other Starks returned to the feast.

* * *

Walking down the hallways with a flagon of wine in his hand, Jaime was returning from the courtyard, having had made sure that Tyrion would indeed be joining them at the feast, when he suddenly walked in on quite the scene: Robb and Lyra Stark in a rather passionate embrace in an empty corridor.

Walking back behind the corner he had just turned, Jaime wasn't a lecher; but he was drunk and curious as to how Lyra and her betrothed got along in private. They made quite the display of happiness in public, and Jaime was wondering if that's how the daughter of Brandon Stark truly felt about her betrothed. Jaime knew that Lyra Stark had only been betrothed to Robb Stark to regain the seat she'd lost in the rebellion. In short, it was a political move on Lord Stark, Lord Arryn and Prince Doran's part, and these marriages rarely tended to work if Cersei and Robert's marriage were any indication. Much to Jaime's surprise though, the two Starks seemed to be more in love with one another than they let the world know.

Hearing Robb and Lyra's passionate and secret embrace going on softly in the corridor, Jaime could help but to think how much it reminded him of how he and Cersei would find times alone like this.

 _I think you should go back to the feast first_ , Jaime heard Lyra's voice. _I think it would be less suspicious. I'm sure that everyone is expecting me to have lingered with Arya for a bit._ Hearing Robb exit the corridor to go back to the feast, Jaime waited for a few moments before coming out of where he was hiding. Turning the corner, he saw Lyra Stark smoothing her hair and skirts back down in an attempt to look as if she hadn't just been in a passionate embrace with her future lord husband.

"The boy's got more wolf's blood in his veins than I'd originally expected," Jaime suddenly found himself saying as the wine and mead from earlier lowered his inhibitions.

At his sudden words, Jaime saw Lyra quickly turn to his direction, a blush streaking across her face. She was embarrassed that she'd just been caught straightening herself back out from her encounter with Robb, and by the Kingslayer no less.

"You're a fool then," Lyra snapped angrily. She was already mad at herself for having to, what she thought of as making a fool of herself, for the Queen's benefit. She was definitely in no mood for herself or Robb to be mocked further by the Lannisters, especially the arrogant Kingslayer no less.

Jaime was slightly taken aback by Lyra's unexpected hostility. Watching her storm off, he quickly grabbed her arm, which she angrily jerked out of his grip. Why such hostility and annoyance by his presence? He only wished to speak with her.

"Aren't you a fierce one then," Jaime commented. Most ladies would not be so bold and openly hostile towards a knight, especially a knight of the Kingsguard. "Tell me Lady Stark," he lightly mocked at her title. "Why so much hostility? What is it I have done to offend you so?"

Feeling rage boil and her face heat, Lyra began to remember Jaime Lannister's failure to protect her aunt and cousins from slaughter as he himself was too busy slaughtering the Mad King. "My aunt and cousin's deaths would be a good start," she told the Kingslayer; anger and hostility making her voice harsh.

Jaime was about to say something when a kitchen boy came running past them, reminding him that he needed to be at the feast. Offering his arm to the angry Sun Wolf, Jaime told her, "I fear our presence is expected. A dance over our differences?" He couldn't help the small laugh that came out of him as he spoke the last sentence. It was an invitation, but it was also a slight joke regarding its double meaning; they'd literally be dancing as they figuratively danced over and discussed their differences.

Lyra, unsure as to whether or not the Kingslayer was mocking her, decided to take his arm and his offer. She was _not_ afraid of the Lannisters and she certainly wasn't going to make it seem so by turning down Jaime Lannister's offer.

As Lyra re-entered to Great Dinning Hall on the arm of Jaime Lannister, people looked at her curiously as she unflinchingly passed them. Another song beginning, Lyra put her hand on the Kingslayer's shoulder and slightly picked her skirts from the floor. Jaime took her hand in his though and forced her closer to him since thesong was slower and more intimate. As they began dancing, Lyra Stark held his gaze, unflinchingly.

"I didn't know that your sister the Queen allowed you to dance at all, let alone women she didn't choose for you to dance with," Lyra finally broke the silence.

Jaime felt his mouth twitch at the insult and gripped her harder, to which Lyra responded by gripping him harder in turn. "You are mistaken if you believe that my sister dictates my life."

"Oh? Really? You could have fooled me earlier as you practically fled with your tail between your legs." Lyra was then twirled gracefully before coming back and adding, "besides, your status as Kingsguard and your sister's as Queen tells me otherwise as well." Lyra knew she was being quite bold with her words, but with everyone so drunk and loud around her, nobody could hear their public, yet private conversation.

"Then you know that as a Kingsguard I'm commanded by the _King_ and not the Queen," Jaime replied back to his companion's insult.

"Oh, so then that's why you and your _noble_ brothers allowed for my aunt and cousins to be _butchered_? Because you're only at the _King's_ command?" Lyra shot back at his defense.

 _So then this is the crux of the issue_ , Jaime thought. "To be fair Lady Stark I had no idea of what was happening to the Princess and your cousins."

"Oh that's right! You were too busy murdering the king you'd sworn to protect?"

Jaime had to have a laugh at this, was Lyra Stark actually defending the mad king who'd murdered her own father and grandfather? "Come now Lady Stark, you're not actually defending the Mad King are you?" He mocked back.

At this, Lyra had been taken aback; of course she'd never defend the Mad King! "I do not _ser_ , but I only ask since you since your earlier words made you seem so devoted to your position.""Then tell me Lady Stark, if you served a king who constantly caused your vows to conflict, and then one day asked you to bring him your own father's head, would you do as he asked? Even though your vows told you to obey the king and obey your father? Which would you choose? Save your father? Or save the Mad King? You're damned either way." A look of genuine shock washed over Lyra's face at his words and he felt her grip on his hand relax."The Mad King murdered my father and grandfather…I'd kill the Mad King a thousand times, breaking a thousand vows if I even thought it would bring my father back," she admitted. Jaime felt a slight sting on the back of his hand as he realized she was gripping him so hard in her anger that her nails were digging into him.

All mirth died from Jaime's face at the lady's fierce response. "Then perhaps you aught to put yourself in my place and then you _might_ understand why I chose to be the Kingslayer," Jaime told her rather harshly.

"Is that what helps you sleep at night?" Lyra shot at him. "Do you tell yourself that plunging your sword in the Mad King's _back_ as my aunt and cousins were murdered on the command of your father was the lesser of two evils?"

Jaime was mildly surprised, he couldn't figure out if Lyra was insinuating that he should have saved her aunt and cousins instead of defending the Mad King or if she was implying that it was shameful of him to murder a defenseless, fleeing old man? _She's likely implying both_ , Jaime surmised. "You're clearly a smart girl Lady Stark, so tell me, did you honestly believe that King Aerys, _the Mad King_ , who'd murdered women and babies along with your own father for trying to protect his sister would have allowed King's Landing to be taken without attempting _something_ crazy? In your experience, when mad men are about to meet their deaths, do they die with honor and dignity like us? Or do they tend to become more crazed as their death approaches? Even if it means that they'd be killing the innocents who have the misfortune of being in their vicinity," he asked the angry Stark girl. Though Jaime had never told anyone why he'd plunged his sword into the Mad King, many times he wanted to; however, he certainly didn't intend on telling the angry girl he was dancing with now, especially not tonight.

At the Kingslayer's cryptic words, Lyra almost lost the beat of the rhythm as she racked her brain in an attempt to figure out what he meant. All anger melting away, Lyra asked Jaime, "What do you mean?" When he tried to brush off her question, she persisted, "Exactly _why_ did you kill the Mad King?"

To Jaime's relief, the song ended. Letting go of Lyra, he finally stepped back so they could take their customary bows at the end of their dance. As she curtsied, she never took her eyes off of his.

"Please, tell me," Lyra grabbed Jaime's hand to stop him before he left. She desperately wanted to know.

Opening his mouth, Jaime couldn't find the words. Instead, he told her, "Another time perhaps, but in the future, maybe you shouldn't make such snap judgments about people before knowing their full story." At this, he bowed out, and told her to enjoy the rest of her evening. Thinking, Jaime concluded that he'd at least gotten Lyra Stark to consider that breaking his vow to protect the Mad King wasn't such a bad idea. _Perhaps I_ will _tell her…one-day maybe_ , Jaime thought, though he honestly didn't want to tell anyone; he hated talking about that fateful day. However he felt himself no longer as frightened at meeting the niece of Princess Elia. Lyra Stark was truly more Dornish that Northern to be sure, but at least she seemed more reasonable than either of her people. After such a conversation with the Stark girl, Jaime found that he no longer saw her as simply the daughter of Brandon Stark or the niece of Rhaegar and Elia; instead, his rather enlightening conversation with her turned her into the Sun Wolf and simply a fierce lady named Lyra Stark in his mind. Smirking that he'd gotten one Stark to possibly believe his story, he then ran into the girl's lord uncle, Ned Stark, who Jaime could help but to jape at.

Going back to the table where the rest of the Stark children and Theon were sitting, Lyra couldn't stop thinking about her conversation with Jaime Lannister. _Perhaps he's right; maybe I have misjudged him by judging too quickly based on what everyone else has told me_ , Lyra admitted to herself, however, she could never forgive him for allowing her aunt and cousins to die under his watch.

"What was that all about?" Robb began drilling Lyra when she got back to the table and sat beside him.

Lyra shrugged him off and that it was nothing; she'd run into Jaime Lannister on her way back from putting Arya to bed and he asked for a dance with the future Lady of Winterfell. At this, Robb gave her a curious glance before returning to his conversation with Theon, who then suggested a drinking game; which Lyra was more than happy to oblige.

* * *

**Next: Cersei confronts Jaime about his fascination with Lyra. Bran suffers a life-changing injury. Benjen convinces his brother to allow Jon to accompany him to the Wall. Ned makes tough decisions. Lyra readies to leave with Ned, Sansa and Arya for King's Landing.**


	6. The Wild Wolf's Warning

**Chapter 5: The Wild Wolf’s Warning**

Having not drunk nearly to the extent as Lady Lyra and the older boys did during the previous night at the feast, Ashara Dayne was able to get out of bed just a few hours after dawn. Granted though, this was _still_ much later than the handmaiden usually awoke, but she had quite a bit to drink as well; she just didn’t get so intoxicated from the wine that she needed to be taken back to her quarters like the two betrothed Starks and Greyjoy.

The dornish handmaiden had awoken in her lady’s, and best friend’s, room, which was thankfully dark despite the morning sun. Ashara supposed that despite Lyra’s tendency to over imbibe like the majority of the Martells, at least the future Lady Stark was well aware of her lack of control around copious amount of alcohol; thus she had prepared for the painful consequences the day after would bring by closing the gaps in the windows with rags to prevent the bright sun from shining through its cracks. However, despite expecting Lyra’s usual overindulgence, Ashara was genuinely shocked at how much Lyra had drunk with Robb and Theon at last night’s feast! Her lady had drank so much that Ashara, who had drank quite a bit herself, felt it was time to turn in for the night before Lyra herself had done so. Granted, Lyra was _not_ acting a fool as the majority of the others at the feast had been, however, she was clearly too intoxicated to stay at the feast; which was only confirmed when the petite dornish woman had to allow the other strong but slender built dornish woman lean on her as they stumbled their way to Lyra’s room. Though the two women had laughed all the way over to the Sun Wolf’s room, Ashara could tell that her lady and friend had much on her mind, which was probably why she’d overindulged to such an inappropriate level.

After helping Lyra out of her dress and corset, fumbling as she did so due to her own uneasiness and the fact that Lyra was unable to stand well, Ashara decided to pour them both a goblet of water and ask her lady to confide in her as her friend. This sparked many fond memories for the two women and reminded them of how Ashara would often join Lyra in bed for a long night talk since they were children; and upon Lyra’s insistence, Ashara stripped down to her own shift, grabbed the goblets of water, and joined her friend in bed for a talk. It had taken a little prodding on Ashara’s part, but after a few laughs about the King’s inappropriate, but jovial demeanor at the feast and a glass of water, Lyra finally started taking about what was bothering her so: it was Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.

Though Ashara supposed that she shouldn’t have been terribly surprised, she was still a little surprised that the Kingslayer’s presence bothered Lyra so much that she felt the need to drink to the point that she’d forget about where and whom she was in the presence of. Despite the long and awkward stare down the Kingslayer and the Sun Wolf had in the courtyard during Robert’s arrival, Ashara had been under the impression that they’d smoothed over their differences when she saw the two talking as they danced together at the feast. Apparently she couldn’t have been more wrong though…

The Kingslayer had run into Lyra after she and Robb took Arya into bed. After Robb had left, Lyra had lingered to make sure Arya was tucked in, and that’s when she ran into the Kingslayer. As the Sun Wolf and the Kingslayer talked in the hallway, their quickly turned into the arrogant knight teasing Lyra and House Stark. Lyra, refusing to back down from a fight as always, accepted Jaime’s invitation to have a lighthearted dance with him as at the feast. However, the Sun Wolf refused to allow the Kingslayer to charm his way out of her anger, which led to a verbal confrontation over the late Princess Elia and her children as they danced.

Upon asking the Stark of Sunspear for details of her verbal spar with the Kingslayer at the feast, Lyra was hesitant and would not directly answer Ashara. Instead, she simply told the blonde that the Kingslayer had no idea that his father’s men were murdering Lyra’s aunt and cousins; however, she did tell Ashara something that seemed to be causing her much trouble.

 _He told me that his vows conflicted with each other during the sack of King’s Landing_ , Lyra had said, suddenly sounding sober. _He wouldn’t tell me exactly why he chose to be the Kingslayer; instead, he simply told me that I should consider the vows of the Kings Guard and put myself in his place before judging him…_

After this was revealed, both women fell quiet as they sipped their water. Sensing her friend’s mood darken considerably as she became lost in dark thoughts, Ashara asked Lyra what she and Robb did on their ride because she’d come back looking quite flushed and glowing. At this, Lyra’s mood brightened considerably as she told her curious friend of her romp with Robb in the clearing and of how he’d kissed her lower lips. After much laughter and blushing as the two women exchanged stories about their rather limited encounters with men, they soon fell asleep.

Ashara, being the first to wake up, quietly got out of bed, threw her dress on, and went to her own quarters to ready herself for the day. In her own room, Ashara splashed cold water on her face from the basin before she laced herself into her corset and put on a relatively simple lilac dress. Her head already hurting, she decided to apply the dornish liner to prevent the bright sun from making matters worse. When she finished, she decided to let Lyra sleep as long as Lady Stark would allow.

Arriving to the Great Dinning Hall to break her fast (Ashara was allowed to do so with the Stark family since she was second in line for Starfall, and thus being somewhat considered a Lady if and when her unstable cousin married) she wasn’t surprised to see Lord and Lady Stark already having bread and cheese with their three youngest children. The Baratheons and Lannisters were nowhere to be found, probably having drunk too much and still sleeping off the wine.

Ashara, greeting Lord and Lady Stark good morning with a polite curtsey, was then welcomed to the table. Finishing quickly as a handmaiden’s work was never really done, even if she were exhausted as Ashara was, she went to the kitchens to get a platter to take Lyra some bread and cheese as well as some peppermint tea when Lady Stark suddenly appeared.

“I forgot to thank you about last night, Lady Ashara,” Lady Stark told the dornish woman kindly. “It was good judgment on your part to escort Lyra to bed last night. She had become far too drunk,” she explained rather stiffly.

“It is no trouble at all Lady Stark,” Ashara assured Lyra’s aunt. “Lady Lyra was…enjoying Lord Theon’s drinking game with Lord Robb. She meant to offense,” she tried to cover for her friend’s overindulgence.

At this, Lady Stark sighed and closed her tired eyes. Preparing for King Robert’s arrival and the feast had exhausted her. “It’s alright Ashara, you don’t have to excuse your lady’s behavior last night. I was there after all,” Lady Stark said, referring to her niece’s odd exchange with Jaime Lannister. “I’m not upset and Lyra isn’t in trouble. Jaime Lannister was slaying the Mad King as her aunt and cousins were brutally killed on his father’s orders.” Lady Stark knew about Lyra’s past in the Capitol and her close relationship with her royal cousins and their parents; she supposed that it was inevitable that neither Lyra nor the Kingslayer would be able to stay cordial towards one another given that history.

_“Lyra…”_

_Lyra felt her breath catch in her throat as she heard her father’s raspy voice down in the crypts. Wanting to scream and run, but finding herself unable to; instead, she grabbed a torch and held it in front of her as she breathed shakily from fear. She wasn’t afraid of her father, but she was afraid of seeing his ghost walk around unnaturally as his carved stone likeness and hearing the awful sound his shell made when it moved._

_Seeing Shadow come from the alcove in which Brandon Stark was buried, Lyra attempted to beckon him to her, but to not avail. Instead, the black direwolf went back into the alcove. Suddenly, she heard the banging of stone forcefully separating from stone, and the dreadful creaking and crumbling as her father’s stone shell stepped away from his tomb._

_Seeing Shadow come back out of the alcove, Lyra was initially relieved until she saw her father’s statue following her direwolf. Lyra covered her ears as the horrible, unnatural noise Brandon made as he walked closer to her. Shutting her eyes tightly when her father’s statue began closing the distance, yet still unable to move or flee, she heard him call out her name again._

_“Lyra.”_

_“You’re dead! This isn’t real! It’s not possible!” Lyra shouted back; her eyes still closed._

_“Lyra,” Brandon spoke, his voice suddenly sounding human._

_Feeling hands of flesh touch her face, Lyra’s father pleaded; “Lyra, please, open your eyes and look at me.”_

_Still spooked, Lyra slowly opened her eyes to see her father in the flesh instead of his stone likeness. Dropping her torch to the ground, Lyra felt tears prick her eyes; she looked upon a face that she thought she’d forgotten ten years ago._

_“Father!” Lyra cried as she embraced Brandon Stark for the first time since she was four-years-old._

_“My Sun Wolf,” Brandon said as he held his only child tightly. “There is no need to be frightened of me,” he assured her, “regardless of the form I’m able to take.”_

_Nodding her head to indicate that she understood, her father held her at arms length as if to look at her. “You look so much like your mother, but you have the Stark face,” he smiled sadly. “I wish I could have been there to see you grow up, my fierce, beautiful girl.”_

_“Is this real? Or a dream?” Lyra asked her father. She couldn’t believe how young he looked! Then again, he died so young…_

_However, Brandon ignored his daughter’s questions, as he didn’t have much time. “Lyra, listen to me,” he began. “ Winter is coming and great danger comes with it. You **must** protect the pack!” He told his daughter urgently._

_Lyra could only stare at him as he spoke his cryptic words; “I don’t understand what you mean.”_

_“There’s no time to explain, but you will know what to do when it is time,” Brandon said before an exceptionally hard gust of wind blew through the crypts. Though Lyra was stable and only her loose hair was blown around her, her father, on the other hand, was struggling not to be blown away by the harsh gust._

_Barely hanging on to his daughter, Brandon shouted over the wind, “I’m sorry that I cannot explain. But know this: you must become what you never thought you’d be, do what you never dreamt you’d do, and you must protect the pack!”_

_As Brandon lost his grip and Lyra could no longer hold her father, he told her farewell, as they wouldn’t meet again for a long time; and also, to never forget how much he loved her, and how she will always have his undying love no matter what happened._

Waking up alone in her bed, Lyra felt sadness wash over her as her dream still felt so real. Still wearing the Stark direwolf pendant her father gave her as a child, Lyra wept as she clutched it in her hand. Her father never saw her grow up, he’ll never be there to give her away as she married Robb in the sight of the Old Gods, and he will never be a grandfather to her children…

 

Feeling grateful that the Starks had given them separate beds during their stay at Winterfell, Cersei had her handmaidens bring her one the Dornish Reds that she always brought on trips. Robert’s debauchery had been particularly humiliating last night at the feast, and she wasn’t sure if she could face her husband, or even the Starks for that matter, without something to take the edge off.

Dismissing her handmaidens, ladies whom Cersei was able to tolerate seeing each day that passed, the Queen sat in silence as she drank her wine. She hadn’t slept well and there were many things on her mind…

The thought at the front most of her mind was the fact that Robert was indulging himself more and more as the days passed. Her once handsome husband and king, a man whom she wanted to love at one point many years ago, was devolving into a fat, loud old whoring drunk. As if that wasn’t insulting enough to Cersei, the fact that the women Robert usually whored with were quite large and unattractive made things even more humiliating; especially in front of the entire Stark household. Then, there was Lyra Stark…

It’s always a bloody Stark girl causing problems! Lyanna this, Lyanna that! _Ned, your niece reminds me much of your sister, she’d be Lyanna’s favorite niece! You should bring her with you to the Capitol! The Martells would love an excuse to come and shed some blood at your tournament!_ Robert had been saying ever since they’d arrived and saw how Lyra carried steel-- _just like Lyanna always wanted_ , he says; and how Lyra rode her horse-- _just like Lyanna did, it’s as if she were born half-horse herself!_ He says! The girl wasn’t even a real Stark! She was _fucking dornish_! Lyra even knew that herself! Calling her the “Sun Wolf” because she was a Stark of Sunspear since she was under the protection of her mother’s house ever since Brandon Stark was stupid enough to get killed and cause his daughter to lose her place in the North.

Cersei knew that she was being childish, but the fact that Robert was growing fond of Lyra due to her having a similar fiery personality to her dead aunt, Lyanna, was irritating Cersei by the minute. Then to make things worse, Jaime seemed to have an odd fascination with the Stark girl.

Feeling anger boil beneath her skin, Cersei snapped at her handmaiden to come in when she knocked on the door with food.

Breaking her fast as her handmaiden, whose name Cersei couldn’t and wouldn’t bother to remember, helped the Queen dress, she asked the woman what everyone was doing or planning to do as it was already past midday. The handmaiden informed Cersei that Robert was insisting on a hunt and the royal children were playing with the Stark children in the courtyard. Casually, Cersei asked if her handmaiden knew what her brothers, Jaime and Tyrion, were up to. The woman told Cersei that Tyrion was nowhere to be found, to which Cersei couldn’t care less, and Jaime was obtaining from the hunt with the Starks to guard his sister, the Queen.

Getting an idea, Cersei sent the handmaiden to fetch her twin so she may speak to him privately. As she waited for Jaime, Cersei poured herself more wine.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Jaime to arrive. Looking dashing as always in his tan surcoat, acting as if nothing were wrong, only enraged Cersei more.

“Tell me brother,” Cersei started the fake, sweet voice she used when she was cross but wanted to sound in control of her emotions. “Did you enjoy your little dance with the Stark girl last night?” She looked at him as her prey, just as their father did when he was cross.

Jaime inwardly groaned at this. He knew he’d eventually have an earful from Cersei about Lyra Stark. Feeling his sister was about to give him a long lecture, Jaime poured himself some of the Dornish Red and sat down. “The dance I enjoyed. The dornish are quite energetic,” he answered. “The conversation is another story, however,” he added irritably. He could escape “the Kingslayer” down South, and her certainly couldn’t escape it here in the North. It was becoming tiresome for Jaime to have to deal with the sneers that came along with that nickname.

“That was quite a stare the two of you had in the courtyard upon our arrival,” Cersei said with an unreadable expression. However, Jaime had a feeling that his sister was angry due to the attention Lyra was getting from Robert about reminding him of Lyanna, which was likely making her take his interactions with the Stark girl the wrong way.

“There was an incident with her and her cousin, Obara Sand, in King’s Landing when I was still Kingsguard under the Mad King,” Jaime told her; as if that alone should indicate that he had no interest in the girl. Well, other than the fact that she was a haunting reminder of his failure to save Princess Elia and her children, in addition to the fact that he witnessed her father and grandfather get murdered by the Mad King.

“If that was years ago, then why do you express so much interest in her?” Cersei snapped.

Draining his goblet, Jaime refilled it before answering; “What’s not to be interested in? I watched half her family get murdered, and watched her almost get her bloody arm cut off when she was four just for touching a jewel on a sword had Obara Sand not killed that mad guard with her spear.” Jaime answered irritably. The sooner they got out of the North and away from Lyanna Stark, the better. “Not to mention that she’s a noble woman, wielding a sword, winning archery contests, calling herself the Sun Wolf and has some very odd inheritance circumstances,” he added.

Cersei seemed to be relenting as Jaime saw her anger had died down; however, she then asked him, “What were the two of you talking about as you danced at the feast?”

She was looking at him dead on. It was that same determined look she got when she was going to force an answer out of someone. Taking a deep breath, Jaime very much didn’t want to talk about any of last night’s events with his sister. He’d almost told Lyra why he killed the Mad King, and he hoped that he’d never have to tell anyone. Though he considered killing the Mad King and his pyromancers to be his greatest act, talking about how he had to break one of his most important vows to do it was something he loathed. Besides, the knowledge of those caches of Wildfire was too dangerous for anyone with power to know…

“I killed the man who forced Lyra’s father to strangle himself to death as he tried to save her grandfather from being burned alive. I saw it as justice and I wanted to know why she still sneers ‘Kingslayer’ at me.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth, and Jaime didn’t want their argument to continue.

Satisfied that her brother was only interested in Lyra Stark because he saw her as an oddity, Cersei began to relax. Looking out the window, Cersei saw the Broken Tower that Lady Stark had told her about during her tour of Winterfell. The tower was off limits to everyone due to it being unstable and dangerous for the children. Robert and most of the men would be on the hunt while the servants went about their extra chores due to the royal visit. This was the perfect time for Cersei and Jaime to be alone.

 

Still feeling terrible from last night, Lyra went to the Lord’s Solar; Aunt Cat and Uncle Ned wanted a word with her. Bracing herself for the worst like a lecture about overdrinking last night, she suddenly stopped as she heard the hushed, serious tones of her aunt and uncle. Waiting outside the doorway so as not to barge in on them, Lyra couldn’t help but to overhear.

 _Do you think it’s safe to take Lyra with you to King’s Landing?_ That sounded like Cat’s voice. _I won’t have a lot of help here either since you’ll be taking most of the household appointees. Since the wedding is so close, don’t you think it would be a good idea for Robb and Lyra to practice being Lord and Lady of Winterfell?_

 _If the King is in danger, then we will need allies in King’s Landing. House Martell are our allies right now, but they won’t come to King’s Landing unless Lyra is there._ The voice sounded like Ned’s. _The Martells may despise King’s landing, but they know how to navigate it better than we do._

Cat sighed in exasperation. _How do you know that they’ll come? Prince Doran is notorious for moving slowly, but surely and deadly._

_They swore and oath, Cat. They’ll come if Lyra comes, especially since King’s Landing is easier to get her from._

_Robb and Lyra are not married **yet** ; **nothing** is set in stone, Ned. If things go badly in King’s Landing, how do you know that Prince Doran won’t back out?_

_They won't because they despise the Lannisters more than Robert, and because Doran and Meria want Lyra to have her father’s seat back. They **want** Winterfell for strategic advantage. If the Lannisters go to war with us, then the Stormlands, Dorne, and the North can easily move in on them. Tywin is a smart man, Cat. He’s going to have that figured out; if we all join forces against the Westerlands, the Lannisters will lose._

Waiting a moment so as to appear to not have been eavesdropping, Lyra then knocked on the door. Maester Lewyn opened it and allowed her inside.

Greeting her aunt and uncle, Lyra sat down; “You wanted to speak to me?” She asked them.

“Yes, Lyra,” Ned started. He told her that he’d given much thought on King Robert’s offer to be the Hand of the King and he had accepted. Lyra then congratulated her uncle on his appointment, and she truly believed he’d make a great hand. Her heart racing, as she knew the question that was coming, it was finally asked: “I’m taking the girls to court with me,” Ned said. “How would you like to come with us? I’m sure that your mother would prefer to collect you in King’s Landing, rather than here.”

 

Coming back from the ravenry after sending her mother and uncle, Prince Doran, letters for their approval to join the Stark’s in King’s Landing for the celebration of Ned’s new position, and to collect her to go back to Dorne for six months, Lyra felt her stomach go into knots as she thought about the prospect of King’s Landing. She hadn’t been there since she was around four-years-old; not since her father, grandfather, aunt, and cousins were all murdered. That place held nothing but terrible memories for her now. However, her father’s words from her dreams kept ringing in her head.

_Protect the pack!_

Lyra had almost said no to Ned’s request to accompany them, however, upon further thought, she realized that she had to go. The Starks were much safer in Winterfell, but if she stayed in Winterfell with half of the Starks while the other half went to King’s Landing, then how could she protect the pack?

 _I can’t believe I’m actually giving credence to those dreams!_ Lyra thought, embarrassed. _There’s no such thing as magic or prophecies or anything of that sort! So then why are my father’s words ringing in my head and I feel like something bad will happen if I don’t go?_ Lyra was frustrated; she was an educated noblewoman and there was no such thing as magic, yet she was treating her dreams of her father as if his warnings were real. Perhaps she wanted to go because she needed closure? Ever since the Rebellion ended, Lyra had been frightened of King’s Landing; maybe she felt like she needed to go because she needed to prove something to herself? That she can go to the Capitol and not die? That she was finally safe from anyone there who wished her harm?

 

The Starks feasted the royal household for another fortnight before things began to settle down, and everyone defaulted to a routine around Winterfell. Aunt Cat and Uncle Ned still played the roles as gracious hosts to the Baratheons and Lannisters. Ever since hearing her father approve of the marriage between herself and the Crown Prince, Sansa had been spending most of her time with the Queen or her betrothed; much to the annoyance of Arya, Lyra, and Robb, and to a lesser extent, Aunt Cat.

Walking through the courtyard, Lyra was going to head to the village. She had commissioned collars and leashes to be made for everyone’s wolf about a few days ago, and she needed to go pick them up. She didn’t think she could handle the unsteadiness of Summersnow’s walking, so Lyra decided that she would walk to the village instead of riding.

“Bran!” Lyra suddenly shouted, horrified. “You know your mother has forbidden you to climb the battlements!”

Looking at his cousin, embarrassed, Bran quickly climbed down. Landing on his feet, but stumbling a little, he begged Lyra; “Please don’t tell Mother! I just got bored, that’s all.”

Exasperated with so much on her mind and hungover, Lyra relented. “Alright,” she said, as she got eye level with the lad. “I better not catch you climbing again.”

“Fine,” Bran said, disappointed.

Feeling she’d spoken too harshly, Lyra told Bran that if he could be good for every last day she was in Winterfell, then she’d teach him more swordplay. After Bran smiled and nodded in agreement, Lyra told him to go get his wolf because she was going into the village to pick up the collars and leashes for everyone.

Getting her own wolf, Shadow, who was thankful to get out of the kennels since Cat made everyone put their wolves there during the visit, Lyra casually walked past the blacksmith with Shadow in tow. Though Cat didn’t like the girls to go to the village by foot since she thought it was dangerous, Lyra figured that what she didn’t know wouldn’t upset her. Lyra would be perfectly safe with Night’s Queen hidden in her cloak and a giant wolf protecting her.

Waiting until the men left to go hunting, Lyra started to leave a few minutes after the party left, but she suddenly spotted a familiar face.

“Uncle Benjen!” She exclaimed at seeing her father’s younger brother.

“Lya!” Her uncle said as he pulled her into a hung. After fifteen years, Benjen still called her “Lya”. It had become pet name for her when he found it funny that his little niece couldn’t say the “r” in her own name.

“Are you here for the man Lord Stark executed?” Lyra inquired as to why her youngest uncle had shown up at Winterfell.

At his niece’s question, Benjen suddenly fell serious; “Aye, but I’m also here on other business.” He then grabbed a passing Jon Snow and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “This one here keeps bothering me about joining the Watch,” Benjen informed Lyra, trying to lighten the conversation.

At Benjen’s revelation, Lyra couldn’t help the gasp that came out of her mouth. “You’re going to the Wall?” She asked a sheepish looking Jon with concern. She knew that Jon felt misplaced in Winterfell, but she never dreamed that he’d be going to the Wall.

Trying to muster a smile at his cousin, Jon explained; “There isn’t much room here for a bastard named Snow, and a bastard has never been refused at the Wall.”

Though Lyra was sad to hear that her cousin would no longer be in Winterfell, she understood why he wanted to leave, even though he’d be leaving behind his family. At the Wall, former titles and names lost their meaning and everyone was essentially on equal standing for all intents and purposes. The Wall gave positions to those who had earned them, not to those who’d inherited them. Jon was going to the Wall largely because he saw it as his only chance to be someone other than “Lord Stark’s Bastard”. Giving Jon a small smile, Lyra told him that he and Benjen will have to try to make it to her wedding with Robb.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Benjen assured Lyra. Witnessing the marriage of the future Warden and Wardeness of the North would be no small occasion— _especially since Dorne will be coming as well, I’m sure_. Watching the dornish come to a wedding in the North would be interesting to witness. The dornish were always so clearly misplaced in the North in almost every way, especially Lyra’s other uncle, Prince Oberyn. The last time Benjen saw the warrior people called “The Viper” was when Robb and Lyra had been formally betrothed, and the Viper seemed quite annoyed and out of place; he couldn’t stand the cold, harsh tundra that was the North, and he infamously got into a duel with Jorah Mormont-- the Prince had been caught by Lord Mormont attempting, and succeeding, to get between Lady Mormont’s legs. An alcohol fueled fight strated between the two high born men before a duel was suggested in order to settle the dispute. _Thankfully Ned stopped the duel from taking place though—_ House Stark already had strained relations with Dorne so soon after the Rebellion, and they didn’t need one of their vassals making tensions worse. The Mormont’s ended up cutting their visit short and Princess Meria asked her brother to confine his lecherous activities to the brothels.

“Lyra!” Little Rickon suddenly interrupted. “Bran is climbing the battlements! Mother already told him that he couldn’t, but he wouldn’t listen!”

Feeling annoyed at the fact that the royal visit was delegating the care of the Stark children to Lyra, she marched back towards the stable where she’d seen Bran climbing earlier. However, what she saw made all of her fury leave quickly and her blood run cold.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Lyra looked up to find where Bran was climbing only to see a small person falling from the Broken Tower and land onto the ground with a hard thud.

“Bran!” Lyra screamed in terror upon realizing that the small person was none other than the young Stark boy.

“Bran! Bran!” Lyra tries to shake the unconscious boy awake.

No response. The lad was so still he looked dead.

Panic taking over, Lyra looked for any indication that he was alive, barely aware that she was shouting; “Someone help us! Please help us!”

* * *

**Next: The Starks grieve over Bran's fall as they prepare to leave with the royal household, Lyra and Tyrion speak and Lyra contemplates the meaning of her father's warnings.**

 

 

 


	7. A Wolf and an Imp

 

Solemnly, Lyra walked through the courtyard at Winterfell, she was coming back from speaking with the maids who took care of gathering food for the kitchens at Winterfell. Ever since Bran's fall, Lady Stark refused to leave the boy's room, praying to the Seven-day and night. She even slept on a pallet when she was exhausted from praying and wreathing the wickerwork for her son's survival in hopes that the New Gods would answer her prayers.

The other Stark children were quite beside themselves; Arya, asking Robb if Bran would live or die; Rickon, clinging to Lyra and Robb for comfort as the little boy only understood that he could lose his brother. Lord Stark was too busy with tending to his guests and trying to comfort his wife. The four older Starks and Theon were quite upset, but also taking up Lady Stark's duties as best as they could in order to help.

Lyra was coming back from telling the farm maids what to bring to the kitchens for midday meal, supper and breaking fast for the next morning. Lyra loathed it, but she used some colored cream to help conceal the lack of sleep she'd been getting. She couldn't help but to feel largely responsible for Bran's fall from the Broken Tower.

_Bran never paid attention, even when his own mother told him not to climb the walls. What in the Seven Hells was I thinking to believe that he'd listen to me…_

She felt like Bran wouldn't have fallen if she'd made sure to send him off to do something, instead of just leaving him as she did. He always lied to Lady Stark and everyone else about staying off the walls, and everyone knew that he did; but Lyra was busy and hung-over from indulging for too many nights in a row— _I'm so selfish._

Busy berating herself in her mind, Lyra was shocked to see the Imp slap his nephew, the Crown Prince, twice in the face.

Unsure as to what to do, Lyra silently watched as Prince Joffrey skulked away, looking embarrassed and a little ashamed. It was so uncharacteristic of the prince that Lyra couldn't help but to ask the Imp what happened.

"Lord Tyrion?" Lyra approached the dwarf Lannister with apprehension in her voice.

"Ah," Tyrion looked at the curious Stark girl. "So sorry you had to witness that," he said, looking a bit ill.

"Do you mind me asking what it was I witnessed?" Lyra couldn't help the invading question tumble from her mouth before she could think.

Tyrion was hung-over as well, and he'd just spent the night sleeping with dogs. Though his nephew was repulsive, he didn't want to deal with the headache should his spiteful sister, Cersei, catch gossip that the Starks knew how he'd embarrassed the Crown Prince in front of the future Lady of Winterfell— _for refusing to pay his respects about Bran's injury, no less._ So he gave Lyra Stark a satisfying, but vague enough answer as so she wouldn't pry more.

"My nephew may be the Crown Prince, but he has a long way to go in learning manners, I'm afraid," Tyrion casually answered, pushing dirt and straw from his pants.

"Oh," Lyra apologized. "Beg pardon. I never saw that." She cared so little about the fact that the Royal Baratheons and Lannisters were still here that she was simply mindlessly relying on her courtesies when dealing with them.

_Courtesy is a woman's best armor_ , Septa Mordane and Septa Glorina would tell her and the other highborn girls during their lessons. _When you don't know what the appropriate response is, give the most curteous one._ Lyra thought that Septa Glorina's lessons on etiquette and being a proper lady would stay with her forever. She both loved and hated her septas; her septas were maternal figures who shared in her personal triumphs and looked out for her when she was learning to navigate her world as a lady of a prominent house; but the septas annoyed her with the constant, and often sharp, reminders of etiquette and propriety in their presence.

Tyrion watched, perplexed as the feisty she-wolf emotionlessly excused herself before fleeing to the God's Wood.

Coming before the Heart Tree. With it's mouth open. Sap running down its mouth like drool, Lyra sat in quiet contemplation, just as she'd learned from watching Uncle Ned and other Northerners who kept with the Old Gods. It was said among some of the smallfolk that wherever the Heart Trees were, the Old Gods could hear the prayers of Man and the Children. That's why so many of the old ruling houses still kept a God's Wood in their castles despite their conversion to the Faith of the Seven. It was more of a superstition, but everything seemed so dependent on chance with Bran's recovery if Maester Lewyin was right. So Lyra was willing to do anything she thought might even have the chance of helping Bran.

After a while in the God's Wood, alternating between praying and contemplating, she had to leave to attend to other matters. In between the many duties to the royal household and Winterfell, Lyra was supposed to be packing to embark on their journey to King's Landing.

_We're to leave in only three days time_ , she wondered worriedly. She hoped to at least be assured of Bran's recovery before leaving. Telling him goodbye; telling him how next time he sees her, she'll be his sister; how she'd help him become a knight, as he always aspired to be…she desperately desired to watch Uncle Ned and Robb show Bran to be a proper soldier. She also wanted to see Bran become the knight Lyra knew that he always wanted to be.

Drying her tears— _it is not befitting of a lady of a great house to show tears or weakness_ ; Lyra heard Septa Glorina's voice as she dried her tears walking to her room to finish packing. Even though Lyra hadn't had a septa for years, Glorina's teachings about being a proper lady and wardeness still crept up in her mind, especially when Lyra was about to say or act in such a way that the septa would deem improper.

Opening her trunk, Lyra felt she should begin by packing her small clothes, both the lightweight Dornish silks and the heavy Northern woolen ones. Finishing with the small clothes, Lyra began with packing her dresses, Dornish close to the bottom and Northern at the top. Putting her books, jewelry, and garb in a smaller one, Lyra froze when she realized than she'd forgotten to leave out a dress for the final feast tonight and clothes for traveling tomorrow.

Sighing irritably, Lyra started going through the trunk of clothes she'd just finished packing.

_We're leaving tomorrow. Why in the Seven Hells does Lord Stark feel like we need to feast the Usurper one more time?!_ Lyra had decided that she would not be having any more wine than one cup like Sansa; she didn't care to deal with a hangover the next day, of which she knew the King himself would be feeling. _He'll probably be suffering the effects of overindulgence and keep us waiting to start riding like he did with the men on hunts!_

Going through her dresses quickly from anger, Lyra couldn't find one that she believed would please herself or Cersei. Frustrated, Lyra felt tears spilling from her eyes uncontrollably. Grabbing a pillow to muffle her cries, she sat on the bed and closed her eyes. Stress and grief finally getting the better of her.

Lyra had learned to wield a sword and work a bow and practiced everyday at the cost of her dignity as a "proper lady". Growing up, she was teased relentlessly for her desire to be a warrior and scorned by people outside of Dorne. Sure, she'd eventually won the Northmen over despite all of this, but it had been quite difficult and required her to put her pride aside. All of it she had happily endured and let her pride suffer for just so she might feel like she had more control over her own life and save her family if needed. However, as Bran lay unconscious and possibly dying, it began to feel all for naught, especially since Lyra felt like it was her fault.

Feeling the bed suddenly dip down, Lyra looked up to see Shadow's happy, slobbering face. The large and still growing wolf must have sensed his lady's distress because he licked her hand comfortingly before resting his head in Lyra's lap.

Stroking the black direwolf's soft fur, Lyra was reminded of her own house words; _Winter is Coming_. Unlike the rest of the great houses of Westeros, House Stark's words were not a boast or a motto; rather, they were first a warning and also a creed. When winter is coming, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Uncle Ned always said so. Lyra always took her lord uncle's words to mean that individuals of House Stark must put their own needs and desires aside for the sake of the greater good of the family.

Feeling foolish for her selfishness, Lyra kissed Shadow's head before getting off the bed. To calm herself down, Lyra first finished packing before turning to her trunk with everything else in it. Taking a deep breath, Lyra examined every Northern dress she currently had. Since she'd become the unofficial "acting" Lady Stark, Lyra chose the most Stark-like dress she owned. Swallowing her pride, she then began to put on the only dress she owned that she hated. Putting the off white small clothes with the high collar first, she began to immediately feel uncomfortable as this felt too restricting to her. Then she put on the light grey under-dress before the slate grey outer-dress. This dress was looser like Aunt Cat's, thus it did not show her figure and was considered more appropriate in the North because it was more "conservative". Grabbing a thick silver belt, Lyra cinched in the dress's waist. Sending for Ashara, Lyra busied herself with finding appropriate matching earrings and other jewelry.

When Ashara finally came, Lyra was siting at her looking glass, waiting apprehensively. Though she felt a little jealousy when she saw that her own handmaiden was going to wear her hair down to the feast with only a purple jeweled comb that matched her dress to keep her blonde locks back.

Ashara was shocked and asked if Lyra was ill when she asked the blonde dornishwoman to style her hair like that of the North. As Ashara obliged and tightly braided Lyra's hair down the top of her head, she attempted again to ask Lyra to confide in her as to what was wrong.

* * *

The final night before about half of the Stark Household left with the Royal Household, the Starks feasted the Royal Family one last time before their departure. The ceremony was led by Lord Stark, who did his best to look honored and not grim to be leaving his potentially dying child behind with his lady wife, who was "so indisposed that she could not attend the feast." At least, that was what the Starks were telling everyone to excuse Lady Stark's absence.

Since Lady Stark was absent and Lyra was the closest to a Lady Stark than the other Starks, she would be taking up Aunt Cat's duties. One duty that Lyra loathed though was the fact that she had to keep the queen entertained. Thankfully though, after the ceremonial farewell to the King and his court, Cersei left the feast. Lyra could tell that Lord Stark wanted to leave as well. Robb noticed this too.

"Father," Robb said to Ned,"the ceremony is done tonight, and I know you wish to be with Mother and Bran." Robb tried to convince his father that he didn't have to stay, and that Lyra and himself could host the feast in his absence.

Ned contemplated his eldest son's offer to take up his duties as Lord Stark in order for Ned to be with his grieving wife and ill child. Finding Robert, who was not at the high table with them, but rather, down the hall drinking and feasting with a rather large kitchen wench, Ned felt himself relent- _Robb and Lyra have proven themselves capable of handling their duties as Lord and Lady Stark_. Though Ned tried not to fall behind on his duties as Lord Stark, he knew that he had done so because he'd noticed since Bran's fall that Robb had taken nearly half of Lord Stark's responsibilities and duties with relative ease; and Ned had seen Lyra had practically taken up all of Lady Stark's responsibilities and duties as well without any issue. Looking back once more at Robert, Ned figured that his King's Guards would do their duties should a problem arise.

Making up his mind to be a father instead of Lord Stark tonight, Ned told Robb and Lyra to come and get him should a problem arise.

Watching his lord father leave, Robb offered his arm to Lyra. Though she had put on a brave face for the feast, he knew how torn up she was inside.

After Bran's fall, Lyra did what she always did when there was turmoil; she sparred with anyone and everyone until she dropped from exhaustion. After quite a few angry spars with Jon, Theon and himself, Robb finally asked his intended as to exactly what had made her so upset. She initially fell silent, which worried him because Lyra was _never_ silent, before turning around to hide her face. The whole thing was unusual since Robb refused to spar with her up until then, and he only did so because Jon and needed a break from Lyra bruising them with practice swords, but Lyra refused to stop, threatening to find a Lannister soldier to spar with instead. Robb offered to spar with his betrothed mostly because his mother and father were upset enough without adding to the headache of Lyra refusing to behave like a lady in front of their guests.

_It's all my fault Robb! I should have made Bran listen!_ Lyra finally faced him and cried into his shoulder; Robb winced as the weight of her head hurt his bruises from their spar. Robb assured her that there was nothing she could have done because Bran was too stubborn to listen, but to no avail...

Looking over at Lyra now, who was currently speaking to Ser Roderick and Mira Forrester (much of House Forrester was to accompany the Starks and the Crown to King's Landing), Robb saw his lady's face only come back to life briefly when the topic of a tourney for the new Lord Hand came up. Robb tried not to take it personally, but it seemed that the only thing that made Lyra turn her focus away from her fear and grief was, ironically, the thrill of battle.

* * *

After Lyra had done her duties standing in for Lady Stark, she needed a break; she couldn't be around people— _Especially not these people_. It added to the pain that Bran's injury was barely being recognized by their own guests. Sure, they'd paid the appropriate respects to Lord and Lady Stark, but they seemed insincere, as if they were trying to comfort Lord and Lady Stark but didn't care outside the custom that had to be shown. Robert was even heard drunkenly yelling how crippled children should be taken down like lame animals. Saying it was more humane to do so for cripples as it was for the animals.

After that, Lyra had enough and grabbed her goblet before going to the courtyard to practice archery. Drunkenly, she aimed and missed the centermost target again and again. It was alright with her, she didn't want to do target practice; she just wanted to take her mind off the debauchery that was her king and his family.

_Protect the pack!_

Brandon Stark's words had been ringing in her ears ever since Bran's fall.

_Why didn't I listen?!_ She screamed to herself, finally hitting the dead center of the target.

Going to the target to reload her quiver, Lyra heard a voice behind her.

"So the Sun Wolf is an archer after all," Tyrion Lannister began with a skin of wine in hid hand. "Makes me wonder if all the other rumors are true."

"Rumors?" Lyra answered innocently. "I know not what rumors you hear of." Though Dacey Mormont, another lady with martial skills, had garnered quite a reputation, and Lyra considered the quite large but beautiful woman to be the better swordswoman; Lyra's reputation had spread further south. Something, which she was acutely aware of but always tried to seem oblivious to— _It is unbecoming of a lady to openly take pride in her reputation_ , Lyra heard Septa Glorina's voice.

Tyrion didn't say anything, he simply watched as Lyra walked back to shoot more arrows. It was frustrating, she knew that she was drunk, but she wanted to hit the very center so bad it was maddening!

"My sincerest condolences about your cousin," Tyrion suddenly spoke up. Lyra stopped for a moment at this, he was the only Lannister to actually sound sorry about Bran— _You're definitely different from the rest_.

Thanking him politely, she shot another arrow. Missing.

"Tell me," Tyrion walked to the future Lady Stark, trying to strike up conversation. "Are you well learned about Queen Visenya Targaryen?"

"Of course," Lyra answered, lowering her bow. "Every high borne lady must be well versed in history. Especially regarding the Targaryens."

"Yes," the Imp continued, pouring wine from his flagon into Lyra's empty cup. "But what most high-borne ladies don't now is that Visenya was one of the few women who was all, a mother, warrior, and queen. Slender and quick, Visenya made fools of her husband brother's King's Guard, while also retaining her queenly and motherly elegance as a woman."

Lyra drained her cup of wine before asking Tyrion why he wanted to talk about Visenya.

Pouring another cup for her, Tyrion asked the question, "Why take up the martial skills of the lords, my lady?" It was a genuine question, especially since he'd observed that Lyra was quite adamant about being equally as independent and capable as the lords.

Lyra thought and chose her words carefully before answering. "Winterfell was my father's and I am his only heir," she began.

"My lady, you must know that the law of succession favors the—" Tyrion began.

"I know what it favors," Lyra snapped. Appaled with herself at snapping at Tyrion when he was only having a polite conversation with her, Lyra composed herself and apologized.

"I'm sorry if I have offended you, my lady," Tyrion apologized soberly.

Lining the last arrow up, Lyra shot and missed. Lightly sighing in irritancy, she walked to the target to retrieve the arrows.

"No offense taken, Lord Tyrion;" Nobody had simply asked her before for quite a long time. "We all have our parts to play in this world. The part I play is the future lady of Winterfell, doing what she must to regain her seat. For me to accurately play that part, I need to act the part as my father's heir. Also," she added darkly. "I do not plan to meet the same end as my aunt and her children at your father's command."

Tyrion was taken aback at Lady Lyra's boldness concerning Lord Tywin, the father of the queen, and the man who kept the Seven Kingdoms together under the fear of his wrath.

"I was not there my lady," Tyrion offered, but he'd heard rumors. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what happened. The murder of the children and their mother was unnecessary."

Lyra could only stare at the queen's younger brother for a moment, perplexed. She most certainly never expected an apology about Elia and her children from a Lannister, let alone from one of Lord Tywin's son.

Feeling the need to return the gesture of good faith, Lyra asked Tyrion what he was doing out by the archery instead of at the feast.

"I've had enough feasting for now," Tyrion admitted, pouring the last half of the wine left in her glass. "I like to thing and drink you see. I'm in the mood for a stimulating conversation."

Intrigued, Lyra asked him what sort of conversation he wished to speak of. He paused before saying how he was intrigued by the fact that Lyra reminded him a bit of a young Visenya.

Lyra laughed; "You mean Queen Nymeria," she corrected him. "I'm Dornish. Not Targaryen."

"Queen Nymeria was also a woman warrior to be reckoned with; but you are more Visenya, I would argue." Tyrion looked at her very serious. "Wanting to presume as if Winterfell is yours by right as much as it is Robb's, but really, the only reason you have power is through your marriage with the Stark boy." He drained the last of his wine, "Well", he added, "as long as Robb Stark lives. I supposed the other Stark boys would be too young to rally behind."

"Bran wouldn't be too young to rally behind," Lyra defended the Stark boy. _That is if he lives…_

Staring into her cup, Lyra felt a nudge on her shoulder as Tyrion handed her a handkerchief. She hadn't even noticed that tears had silently streamed down her cheeks. Thanking him and handing the handkerchief back, Lyra suddenly turned her attention to the Broken Tower; the place Bran had fallen.

Lyra had gone over it many times in her head; _How could he have fallen from the tower he'd climbed so many times before? He's always been so sure footed._ It didn't matter, _s_ he'd failed her father and Bran.

Watching Lyra look at the tower from which Bran had fallen and speak about how unusual it was for the boy to lose his footing, Tyrion began to worry. He had surmised that his older siblings had something to do with the boy's fall, and he was starting to worry that Lyra was figuring the same.

"Come to think of it, the trajectory of his fall was quite odd," Lyra's words caught Tyrion's attention. "When I came back later to get my pack, I realized that Bran had landed away from the stones that had crumbled from the tower." Tyrion's blood went a little cold at this.

"Odd indeed, but a falling lad a different from falling rocks. Like a feather and a rock falling together, they're bound to land in different places." Tyrion attempted to steer Lyra away from the possibility that the boy could have been pushed. The Starks and Martells already did not like nor trust the Lannisters, especially not Tywin or any of his children.

* * *

_Holding a candelabra, Lyra found herself walking through the dark hallways of a rather large and open castle._

_Suddenly, she heard the caw of a raven. Looking around in the darkness, she saw the raven fly past her in the moonlight._

_Follow me, it said._

_Lyra followed the raven through the dark hallways with only moonlight and the candelabra to light her way. The raven would stop periodically and wait for her to catch up to it, each time doing so, it would repeat itself. "Follow me."_

_It felt like she was following this raven for a long time, and Lyra was beginning to wonder if she was simply walking in circles. Then, the raven suddenly flew in front of a large door. Flapping its wings to keep it in flight at the door, it said, "Open", before landing on a pot atop a pedestal next to the door._

_Walking up to the door, Lyra looked at the raven with uncertainty._

_"Open," it repeated; staring back at her._

_Setting the candelabra down, Lyra grabbed the handle of the heavy door and cautiously pushed it open. She saw nothing but darkness. Lyra nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the raven fly past her and into the darkness before her._

_Picking up the candelabra, Lyra held it out in front of her. There were stairs leading down to the bowels of whatever castle she was in._

_"Follow me," the raven's voice echoed eerily._

_Cautiously, Lyra descended the stairs. When she got to the bottom, she held the candelabra out in front of her. It appeared that she was in a room full of dragon skulls. Then it dawned on her; she was in the Red Keep. Specifically, she was in the part of the castle where most of the dragon skulls that couldn't fit into the Throne Room were stored._

_"Find the sword," the raven said._

_Hearing wings flapping past her, Lyra turned around and saw that it had landed on one of the dragon skulls. Walking closer to the raven, the light from her candelabra illuminated it. Lyra gasped in horror; the raven had three eyes._

_"Find the sword!"_

_Lyra shrieked and fell backwards in fear. Then, everything went black. She felt terror grip her as the candles must have gone out due to her fall._

_"Find the sword!" She heard the raven caw in the darkness._

Waking from her nightmare, and confused as to how she got back to her room since she had little memory of the previous night, Lyra's hand felt wet. Looking beside her, she figured that Shadow was the culprit; he was likely trying to soothe her as she was thrashing about from her nightmare.

_The nightmare felt so real though._ The nightmare was different from any nightmare or dream Lyra had ever had, save for her recent dreams of her father; which began to worry her. However, upon seeing light from the morning sun peaking through her window, Lyra forgot about the dream.

Heart pounding from fear for Bran while she's gone and excitement for the journey ahead, Lyra got out of bed and began to dress herself. She planned to wear her garb beneath her dress and conceal her sword with her heaviest cloak. Sansa and Arya may be forced by Ned to travel by carriage, but Lyra planned to do no such thing. Even if she had to ride uncomfortably side-saddle all day.

* * *

**Author's Note: I apologize if this chapter was somewhat boring. I promise that things are about to get quite exciting since the first arc (which is meant to set up the rest of this multi-arc story) is almost over.**

**Next: _A Dangerous Journey_ \- Lyra shares a tearful goodbye to Robb and Bran, the Stark and Royal party travel through the Riverlands, and Lyra makes a difficult choice.**


End file.
